Runaway Witch
by StrictlySomething
Summary: Hermione Granger loved magic. But she also had limits, and being hunted by reborn megalomaniacs and insane purebloods in silver skull masks just happened to be one of them. It was time for a fresh start, and maybe a stick to ward off the web-flinging high-schoolers, wayward billionaires, and shadow agencies that apparently came with it.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Hermione stared with an aching finality at her copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ that rested on top of all of assorted magical items she'd collected over the years, organized neatly into stacks inside her school chest. This was it. _This was it._

Because as much as she _loved _magic, there just wasn't much sense in staying in a world that was out to get her. She had managed the unsavory insults, even put up with thinly veiled threats, but reborn megalomaniacs and hooded purebloods in silver skull masks thirsting for her muggleborn blood was just a little much, really. If she stayed, she, along with everyone she knew, had a good chance of ending up dead. Or worse.

She wouldn't do that, not to her friends, to her parents, and especially not to herself. Not when she didn't have to. Magic had been a part of her life for six good years, yes, but it wasn't the only part of her life. She'd been good to her word with her parents and hadn't given up her muggle education, testing out of her A-levels year after year in the summer from reading she'd done during throughout the school year. Universities all around the world would be happy have her, and with a full-ride to boot. So as much as it might hurt, she didn't need magic. Especially when the world that came with it was as dangerous as it was.

Going into hiding wasn't exactly what she'd wanted for herself either. But, well, apparently being the top of her class in virtually everything and muggleborn at the same time put you on the list of people that Death Eaters wanted dead. That, and walking down to Care of Magical Creatures with Harry Potter every Thursday since third year had blacklisted her before she'd even realized there was a threat.

Maybe, maybe she'd take a look again after she finished Uni. See if anything had changed, see which side had won, but for now—

She sighed, for now Hermione Granger was done with magic.

She shut her chest, and it locked with a resounding click. It'd be sent off with a few other belongings from her childhood to go into long term storage. They didn't really have the space to take it with them after all, and she preferred as clean a break as she could get. This stung enough as it was.

"Hermione, are you ready?" Her mother called from downstairs, "We're going to miss the aeroplane."

"Coming, mum," she yelled back, standing up. She only hesitated for a moment before she grabbed the two bags on her bed, adjusting them in her hands as she bound down the stairs.

She'd done the right thing.

And when they were finally boarding the aeroplane that would take them across the Atlantic to their new home in America, she only allowed herself a small moment to look through the window in a direction she imagined Hogwarts was in. Her grip on the seat rail beside her tightened uncomfortably, "Good luck, Harry."

**To be continued.**

* * *

**AN: BAM, Harry Potter and Avenger's crossover book smart Hermione style. **

**This is happening mostly because I just really, really wanted it to happen. **

**This started as an AU idea: what would happen if Hermione hadn't been as close of friends to Ron and Harry during her Hogwarts years? Once I established she'd go into hiding at the rise of Voldemort, the crossover with Marvel began to take shape. And Voila. Here is the result. **

**Hope you enjoy,**

**StrictlySomething**


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_**Six Years Earlier**_

Hermione shakily wiped her nose on the edge of one of her school robes' sleeves. She was hiding in the girls' lavatory on the second floor, sitting on a toilet, and bawling her eyes out like she was seven again and Michael Thornby had thought her hair and mud made a good combination.

It definitely wasn't one of her prouder moments.

"C'mon Hermione," she muttered liquidly, "You're a witch now. A Gryffindor. Pull it together."

Despite what she'd read, practicing deep breaths to calm herself down only seemed to make things worse. Every time she found some temporary calm, the memory of a boy's voice would cut through her resolve, "_It's no wonder she hasn't got any friends."_

Her throat began to burn as she though of the unfairness of it all, the tears roiling back to the surface for another round.

She just didn't understand why boys had to be so mean?

Muggle, wizard, it didn't matter. They all went out of their way to make Hermione Granger cry, whether it was shoving mud in her hair on the playground or mocking her in front of the all of her classmates years later.

She had only been trying to help him. Ronald hadn't been close to the correct pronunciation, just waving his wand around as if expecting magic to just come out of nowhere. She could see him growing more frustrated, and she'd managed on her first try hadn't she? It was only natural that she try to help. And wasn't helping a person supposed to make them nicer?

She dropped her head into her hands again, sniffing loudly. But what made it truly horrible was that Ronald Weasley was right. She didn't have any friends. She didn't know how to _make_ any friends. It had always been that way. Hermione was far more comfortable with her books and schoolwork and listening to adults than people. But she had hoped with a fresh start, she'd—

Her shoulders shook, a keening sound escaping from her throat. Her dream was falling apart before it had even picked up off the ground. She wasn't making friends. Everyone _hated _her. Stupid know-it-all Granger.

A part of her just wanted to go home.

She heard the lavatory door swing open on rusty hinges. Dropping her hands, she looked up in alarm. Standing up quickly, Hermione hurriedly rubbed the tears off her face, composing herself as if whoever had entered could see through the wooden stalls.

The sound of what must be a **very **large nose sniffing the air and Hermione stilled, breathing in shakily.

"Who's there?" she called out hesitantly, wiping her face rigorously once more. Other girls could be just as mean as boys, and she wasn't going to be made a fool of for looking like a blubbering idiot.

A heavy grunting noise responded and it echoed lightly off the stone walls. Large thudding clomps followed, sending quivers through the very floor. She froze, her heart beginning to pound heavily enough to feel through her limbs. That certainly wasn't a girl. Moving forward so that she could peak through the crack in between the hinges of the door, Hermione caught the lumbering movement of something large and grey.

Wide eyed, she stepped back quickly, her rear bumping into the toilet behind her. The beginnings of something more than just anxiety stirred in her stomach, and she breathed in small rapid breaths. That wasn't a girl at all**.**

A wave of foul-smelling air hit her, like rotten milk and something far worse, reminding her of the times her parents had driven past the old sanitation plant.

"This is the girl's lavatory," she tried again desperately, her voice high pitched and shaky. "Go away!"

Another grunt, another thud, and two vastly large, grey feet moved to stop in front of her stall. Her eyes trailed upwards to the mountain of leathery skin peaking out above it. The ears on both sides said that it was a massive head, but it was unlike any Hermione had ever seen before. Mouth drying in an instant fear, her stomach plopped down to her feet.

The mountain of dirty, smelly hide moved, and a heavy hand fell onto the top of the stall door. Hermione threw her hands over her mouth, holding in a terrified scream. Crusty, dirty fingers clutched the wood hard enough for it to crack, and the creature turned until it was facing her.

Her heart missed a beat. She'd only ever seen things like this in cartoons on the telly, or in her books. Faintly, she recalled sketches of creatures that she'd stared at in a book at _Flourish and Blotts. _This— this was a mountain troll, her mind supplied and her hands fell to her sides numbly.

Seeing her with large, milky eyes, the troll tilted its head. It blinked dumbly twice before grinning rows of uneven, green teeth at its prey. The snort of air it released blew her hair back, the stench overwhelming.

She did the only thing she could. She screamed.

The creature reared back at the noise, his other arm raising and revealing a wooded club. It swung back and then forward with a powerful momentum and -

She threw herself down on instinct as it passed through the stalls like tissue paper, wooden pieces raining down over her head and the sounds of water spraying out as the pipes were torn apart. Remembering drills from her earlier school days that were sorely lacking for this kind of emergency, she managed to keep her hands over her head. Hermione closed her eyes, terrified and blindly hoping that this would all just _go away. _The monster let out an unsatisfied bellow and she heard a whistle of air before the club passed over again, taking out stalls from her left.

Scream still in her throat, she felt the club whisk right over where she lay collapsed. Doing the only thing she could think of, Hermione dove forward, scrambling with hands and feet that slid around the increasingly wet floor in between its two trunk-sized feet to get to the opposite side.

"Ungh?"The troll grunted questioningly, its response slow. She scurried to her feet again, and turned to press her back against the tiled wall behind her as she sobbed out breaths, her entire body quivering in shock. Without the stall between them, the troll was even more monstrous than before, a puzzle piece of large lumpy limbs that towered over her. It had a grungy poorly made cloth tied around its waist and keeping this moment from becoming even more terrifying for other reasons.

Heart beating so fast that she felt like her chest might explode Hermione watched frozen in place as it lumbered around, a hand swinging the club to come down before it.

Oh, please no. It was going to hit her. _It was going to hit her!_

_Move, Hermione!_ Her mind screamed. _MOVE_!

She collapsed downwards, covering her head with her arms. Clenching her eyes shut, she screamed into her knees, hot air pressing into the wet fabric of her school uniform. She begged with all her might that someone might hear here, that a professor would come to save her. _Please let so—_

The club hit the wall behind her with tremendous force, and this time the debris showering down was a lot heavier than wooden stalls and metal pipes. A solid piece of stone knocked her flat and the scream turned hoarse and whispering in her throat as the air whooshed out of her. Hands still over her head, she smashed face first into the ground and sparks of light showered across her vision. As more of the wall fell, a sharp pain shot through her shoulder and another weight pinned her down unceremoniously to the cold floor.

The ground shook, the air whistled, and a club smashed down not a meter from where she was lying. She tried to sob, but she couldn't even do that, her lungs too busy screaming for air. She tried to move, a hand clawing at the ground, but the weight on top of her was just too heavy. Hermione's vision blurred with tears.

_Why was this happening?_ Her terrified mind sobbed. _Why—_

The club swept lower this time, scraping against the ground and she turned her head away, hiding it in her shoulder. Sharp pain erupted through her side, something cracked, and she felt herself and all the debris around her lift up at the force of impact, suddenly flying forward. The weightlessness, the air rushing past her, something scraping against her cheek even as she spun, limbs splayed out with the force; it was all a blur until she smashed into the far wall and things sparked a blinding white in front of her, before everything collapsed into black.

The numbing darkness shifted slowly into something vibrations shook her dimming world, echoing roars, voices yelling, a final ground-quivering thud, and then a strange ringing silence that her mind identified though it sounded from far away.

A weight was lifted off her, and there was pain that came with it, a viciously groaning pain. She wanted to move, to scream, but her body refused to act and she could only moan faintly. A warmth pressed down on her shoulder, a tightness spreading in her chest –

"—rlin, it's the Granger gir—"

"—loody sakes, someone get Poppy!"

The warmth moved to her face, voices pressing down around her. An exhausted sleep called to her, an unsettling stillness had made its way into her limbs, making her wonder if they'd ever move again. Foggy thoughts drifted in and out.

"—ranger, can you hear me? Ms. Granger—"

Finally, she managed to open her eyes numbly, only one of them wouldn't open, glued shut by some warm, sticky liquid and unknown pressure. Blurry shapes formed around her, and she stared at them blankly, in confusion.

"—ranger?" a dark, fuzzy shape in front of her said in a baritone voice. The shaky memory of potions and dungeons and black fabric flickered confusingly in her mind.

Hermione blinked heavily. It was even harder to keep her eyes open this time. Everything was distorted and distant, like looking through water.

Another figure had appeared at her other side, "—ranger, dear, can you hear us?"

Her mind was numb, but her body hurt unlike anything she'd ever felt before. "M-mum," she managed to whisper, her chest screaming, everything screaming, "I- I want my mum."

* * *

_**Present Day**_

"So," her mother asked, setting down one of the number of boxes they had to unload on the hardwood floor of the empty room. Hermione let her multiple bags drop down next to it. "What do you think? Better than that dreadful hotel?"

Their new home being the subject of her question, Hermione took a moment to walk around and cast an eye over it all; it being a three bedroom flat on the 5th floor of a complex in the middle of Queens.

"We didn't have much notice, of course," he mother continued, following her to peer around. "We were lucky to even get something so close to the job I snatched at that firm."

"Mmm," Hermione agreed, feeling the edges of guilt sink in that _she _was the reason they'd had to leave so quickly. That her parents had dropped everything, said goodbye to all of their friends, family and _left, _all because of her.

"It's a little small," her mom fretted.

"We knew it would be," her father called from the entry way, lugging in a box of his own as he made an entrance. "This is just a starter while I get in contact with some realtors and look for some office space to settle in the practice, remember?" He walked into the kitchen to join them, beaming at the hardwood floors, before kissing her mother on the cheek, "Not bad, not bad."

His buoyancy didn't say too much for the reality of their situation being the diehard optimist that he was, but Hermione felt remarkably lighter anyway. "And I was talking to the receptionist downstairs; he said it was a bit of a distance, but that Hermione could take the subway to get to school. I had him draw up some directions for us."

"Oh, that is nice," her mom agreed, turning back to her daughter, "When did you say school started, Hermione?"

"Monday," Hermione answered, checking the light switches.

"How about we take a break at lunch and go check it out? Get you a tour of campus before your big day?" Her dad asked as he dropped the box on the kitchen counter. Glass object shuddered inside and her mom gave him a glance, "Careful, Robert. My mum's old china is in there."

He nodded, looking over to Hermione, "So what do you say, dear?"

The suggestion sent butterflies fluttering through her stomach. NYU had accepted her with no small enthusiasm once it had seen her perfect A-level scores, and had graciously let her enroll for the upcoming semester even though she'd applied so late. But she felt a lagging sense of unease.

Moving to New York, standing in an empty apartment, some part of her still felt like this might all be temporary somehow. Just another summer vacation that she'd come back from. Stepping onto the new campus would shatter that, and she wasn't comfortable with the idea of her parents being there when it happened. Hermione wanted to take that step on her own.

So she chose to remind him, "We only have the movers for the day, Dad. I'm sure I'll be fine if I get there a few hours early. I printed off a decent map online."

"It would be nice to get settled in quickly," her mom agreed, looking around the bare room. "If we work hard for the next few days, we might even get this place looking like home."

"Alright then, I guess that's my cue to get back to work," Robert said with a salute, heading back out to grab another box.

Her mom opened the box on the counter, opening cabinets as she did so. "Well, at least the cleaners did a good job, yeah?" She turned to give Hermione a smile, stopping when she saw her daughter frowning off into space.

"Why don't you go find your room, dear," she suggested. "Should be the second one on the right."

Blinking and looking at her mother, Hermione nodded, picking up the large duffel beside her as she did so. The complex had obviously put a fresh coat of paint on in the hallway she noted as she walked down it, eyeing the clean surface. New, with no blemishes. A fresh start that was frighteningly empty.

At the end she pushed open the door to the right, revealing a small room that opened up to a single window on the far wall.

Dropping her bag in the center of the room, Hermione noted a faint musty smell. A deodorizing spell came to mind quickly, but she pushed it from her mind. Her mom always kept a bucketful of cleaners for all occasions so there would surely be something there.

Making her way over the window, she wound up the blinds. At the sight that greeted her, Hermione felt herself smile honestly for the first time since she'd arrived in New York. They were in a residential area, some neighborhood called Forest Hills. It was quaint, older houses and larger complexes mixing down the streets, a park in the distance and what looked like a school beyond that. From her height she could also faintly make out skyscrapers running parallel to the skyline. If she was correct, the infamous Central Park, the Empire State Building, NYU, all of Manhattan was there just in the distance. It wasn't the roaming hills, forests, and castles of Hogwarts, and it wasn't London, but it was certainly something.

She breathed out heavily, setting her head against the cool glass. She could do this.

The sound of a bird hooting made her jerk her head up. She unlocked the window and quickly slid it open, sticking her head out as far as she dared to look around nervously. She spotted the avian offender perched on the next window over. A pigeon. Of course. It hooted again for good measure, a low trill slightly different from an owl's call that made her feel even more ridiculous.

She flopped her head down onto a hand, groaning.

It was going to take some work, but she could do this. She just had to shake some old habits, build some new dreams, avoid thinking about home. People started over all the time, and she had made her choice. The second-guessing troublesome voice that had haunted her since grade-school could get a grip and take a back seat.

"Hermione!" her mother called, voice getting closer. Hermione pulled herself inside as her mother peaked around the door. "Dear, can you go tell the movers to start bringing the furniture up?" she asked. "And it'll be lunch soon, why don't you ask around and see if there's a place around here we could eat at."

Leaving the lift free for her father, Hermione took the stairs down. The apartment was an older one and most of the stairs creaked as she hit them, but the smell of old wood and stone was comforting.

When she made it outside, she saw the movers unloading everything carefully on to the sidewalk and street around them. "Whenever you're ready, you can start bringing that stuff up," She called out, and the bigger one nodded.

"Sure thing, miss."

Hermione looked around hesitantly. It was the weekend, so plenty of people were home. Cars lined the street, and she could make out lights in the houses and other apartments, faint laughter coming from the park she'd spotted from her window.

An elderly woman was crouched down in her garden a few doors down, and Hermione made her way over.

"Excuse me," she called out politely once she got to the gate, feeling slightly foolish.

The woman looked around, pausing in planting what Hermione immediately registered as comfrey. _Symphytum officinale, _her brain identified automatically – a largely mundane plant with medicinal properties that can be used as a substitute for dittany in a few of the minor healing balms. It was a popular natural remedy amongst muggles, used decoratively and for topical treatments. She pushed the thought away.

"Yes, dear?" the woman asked kindly, leaning back and setting a hand-sized shovel down.

Hermione smiled, "I'm sorry to bother you. My family just moved here, so we don't really know our way around. Are there any restaurants or grocers nearby?"

The elderly lady stood up, "Ah, that must be your moving truck then," she said happily, taking her gloves off and standing up. Wiping her hands on her apron as she walked over, she held one out, "I'm May Parker. Welcome to the neighborhood."

She smiled, and took the hand, "Hermione, Hermione Granger."

May smiled deepened and it was hard not to like her instinctively. "Well Hermione," she said leaning over the fence and pointing down the street, "There's a small convenient store a block that way and to the left. That'll have a few things to get you started. Past that a few more blocks, you can go to West Fielding street and there's a couple of shops and a pretty good pizza place, or so I'm told. All the kids hang out there these days."

Memorizing the information easily, she nodded again, "Thank you very much."

"Not at all," May responded, studying her with a keen eye. "You know my Peter's about your age. I'm sure he wouldn't mind showing you around. He's at the library now, but he should be home soon."

Hermione didn't want to drag her poor son into showing some clueless foreigner around, so she shook her head courteously. "Thank you, but that won't be necessary."

Hearing that a library was nearby was enough to lift her spirits considerably, and she managed a wider grin. She could probably be happy at the bottom of a well, as long as there was something to read there.

May chuckled lightly. "Well if you're sure." She aired out her gloves, sliding them on again, "But don't hesitate to stop by if you or your parents need anything. I've lived here for over twenty years now so I know the place pretty well. And Peter's always available for heavy lifting."

"Thank you, Mrs. Parker," she said graciously, "I'll keep that in mind."

The rest of the day followed in a blur of heavy lifting, sorting, and moving things around for the thousandth time to find the right fit – Hermione had the unsettling feeling that there might never be a right fit, and that her frazzled dissatisfaction for just where the antique lamp Aunt Penny had given them years ago should go was a symptom of a much larger discomfort that circled around herself. Her irritation only grew at the fact that she was making such silly metaphors out of her life problems, that her life problems were even there in the first place.

The rush only paused for a moment, and that was a moment of truly delicious pizza surrounded by the neighborhoods teenagers. People supposedly her age, but who she felt no connection to. Her parents kept up the conversation actively, fairly used to Hermione's habit of silent thought and expecting the depressive air. She just needed some time to adjust. It had only been a few weeks, no one could expect her to be jumping up and down for joy just yet.

Later that night, in loo of sleep Hermione stared at the ceiling. Light from a street lamp filtered in from the window, pasting long shadows across the room. The city sounds that had filled the air that day had grown muted, but not silent. Even now, distant sirens – lower in pitch and in a different tone than she was used to – wailed in the distance.

America. New York City. She was really here. This was happening, she told herself for the thousandth time.

It was funny how quickly things changed when they did.

One moment she'd been a lonely child that sat on the benches in the park and read, making plans for the distant futures of adulthood that involved walking the moon and being the first to discover just what life lay in the Mariana Trench, and then an owl had come and everything had changed in the blink of an eye. She was a witch, in a world of magic and castles and monsters – still lonely, but with an entirely new world to explore and absorb that made it worthwhile. Enter blood politics, and suddenly she was an outcast. Enter civil war, and suddenly she was so much worse.

And now she was in New York. Muggle. Student. Foreigner. Labels that defined her, but couldn't tell her who she really was any more, nor what she was going to do.

She couldn't go back to the dreams she'd had before Hogwarts. That girl was long gone, and her interest in marine biology and space travel had since waned. She couldn't be the witch, or the future professor or curse breaker that she had highlighted during McGonagall's career advisement. So she had to find something new.

And all she had was her interest in knowing, in understanding everything there was to understand. Her brain was her tool, and she would need it in the upcoming months. She wondered at where it would all lead, what would change next.

She sat up in bed, needing to do something other than lay there in uncomfortable thought – and since when had thought of the future been so uncomfortable? "For Merlin's sake, Hermione," she muttered to herself, "get a grip."

Standing up with a long stretch she made her way to a box lying on a new desk the movers had brought in. If she couldn't sleep, than she'd do something productive. Opening the flaps, she peered into the stack of books waiting to be organized onto the shelves of the empty bookcases to her right. Texts of natural sciences, anthologies, ethnographies, and some of her more adored fiction were stack within; old friends she smiled at fondly, certain that they at least weren't prone to sudden changes.

Movement from the window caught her eye, and she looked up with a small frown. In the shadows of the buildings across the street, just outside of the lamps' reach, something bounded from roof to roof. She squinted, leaning against the glass to get a better look.

_A cat, _her mind supplied skeptically, _a very large cat._

A taller building was positioned next. Hermione's eyes followed as the shadowy smudge leapt several stories and swung over the side, disappearing from sight. Her held breath escaped after a moment, open mouth snapping shut. She waited, but nothing else moved in the night.

_A very agile cat. _

**AN: I'll just go ahead and say it. That was not a cat. **

**Readers, you guys are awesome. Seriously. Thanks so much for the awesome feedback, it made my day. No, my life. I feel justified. Vindicated. Glad that I'm not the only one out there who was thinking Hermione needs MORE.**

**I will try very hard not to let you down. If there are questions, feel free to ask. If you have some advice or ideas you'd like to bounce off of me, my ears are always open. Chapter Two is in the works, so I'll try to get it up soon.**

**Guest/Poppyseed Pomphrey: **She did. And I do. You're very right. There'll be some back story that will hopefully explain why she did it, and if not, then, uh. Well. I guess we'll cross that bridge. And I would be a girl.

**Thanks for reading,**

**StrictlySomething**


	3. Chapter Two

**DISCLAIMER: (Which also extends to the prologue and chapter one) I do not own Harry Potter, or any Marvel (and in some small cases, SONY) movie, comic, or cartoon.**

**Chapter Two**

_**6 Years Earlier**_

Waking up was a slow, tiresome process. Her body felt unnaturally heavy with a cold numbness that settled across her back, centering on her chest and spreading across her limbs. She tried moving and when that failed, she opened her eyes.

Unfamiliar cream colored walls greeted her, and as she moved her head to the left and right in the small limited motion she seemed capable of, Hermione saw two more beds, their occupants blocked by privacy curtains that hung about their heads. She blinked, trying to recall what had happened.

She'd been in the lavatory, crying. Her heart thumped in her chest, as she remembered, there had been a troll—

The door in front of her opened and a balding man in lime green robes walked in. Seeing her staring at him, he nodded, "Good afternoon, Ms. Granger. And how are you feeling?"

She swallowed dryly, still stuck on trying to figure out what was happening, "T-there was a troll."

"Hmm, yes," the man said, holding out a wand and looking at something above her that she couldn't she herself. "So I've been told. Dreadful business that. Imagine, having a troll traipsing about a school." He shook his head disapprovingly, sparing her a short glance, "We're lucky you're the only student who encountered it."

Hermione swallowed again, roaring noises and a familiar stench flashiing across her thoughts. She wouldn't call it lucky at all. Looking around again, she frowned. If she wasn't at Hogwarts –

"I don't understand. Where am I?"

The man's eyebrows rose, "St. Mungo's, child. Creature-Induced Injuries, 1st floor."

St. Mungo's. Hermione had read about the hospital in several of her books. Founded by the infamous Healer Mungo Bonham in the 1600's it was the largest Wizarding hospital in Britain. Her condition must've been quite serious to have been taken here.

The healer continued blithely, "You took quite the pummeling, Ms. Granger. I'm afraid Hogwart's simply didn't have the resources to care for you."

_Flashes of pain, of the troll's feet stopping inches from her face, splashing in growing pools of water as it prepared to pummel her once more_. She breathed in shakily, "Where are my parents?"

He eyed her momentarily, "Ah yes, muggles aren't they? I'm afraid they require an escort when visiting. A Hogwart's professor has been bringing them in, in the mornings."

Tears crept unbidden to her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, cheeks burning. She was alone, confused, she wanted her parents.

He let out a small laugh that seemed quite insulting considering her predicament. HIs wand dropped as he continued in a dismissive tone. "Now, now. Don't worry, I alerted your Headmaster as soon as my wards showed you waking up. I'm sure they'll be here soon."

She tried to nod, years of manners properly instilled in _her_, even if the Healer needed a few more lessons.

Hermione sniffed heavily to regain her calm.

"I can't –I can't really move," she started, dreading an answer. The troll _had pummeled_ her with his club, and although she might be a child she wasn't a silly one. She knew her condition couldn't be good.

"Charms to hold you in place while your injuries finish healing. We don't want you moving and disturbing it all in your sleep now. That's led to many the misshapen kidney," he supplied, looking down at her in a more serious fashion. "I won't go into the details, Ms. Granger, but let's just say you're a very lucky witch. It'll take a week more for the spells to fully mend your organs, a few months of physical therapy perhaps, but there should be no lasting effects."

"And school?" she asked in a small voice.

He raised an eyebrow, "Well, that's something you'll have to take up with your Deputy Headmistress when she arrives."

Her stomach dropped, in fear what that might mean, what might happen next. They didn't really have books that covered this sort of thing. Mountain troll attacks. No, they didn't have books on that at all. The healer patted her leg covered in blankets, though she couldn't feel it much through whatever charms and potions they had her under. "No worries, Ms. Granger. They have procedures for this kind of thing. You aren't the first Hogwart's student to be carried in here, and I doubt you'll be the last."

Unsurprisingly, that didn't make her feel the least bit better. She wished she could move her hands, if only to wring them uselessly. The healer checked his pocket watch, "Ah," he glanced back at her once more, "I must continue my rounds now, Ms. Granger. But someone will be around for you soon, I'm sure. Professor McGonagall was quite frantic for you to wake up." He ended with a high lilt of his voice, moving off to the bed over. Hermione watched him leave uncertainly.

"_Mr. Grimpston, how are you feeling today_?" His voice the exact tone as it had been with hers.

A warbling sound that couldn't possibly be any form of language replied from behind the curtains.

"_Yes, I see. It would appear that the cat still has your tongue. No worries, I'm sure we'll recover it soon. I've been conferring with my colleagues, and we believe that a catnip solution might tempt the scoundrel."_

She took in a shaky breath, turning away from the private, and equally ridiculous, conversation.

Not being able to move meant staring at the walls idly, thinking of her situation.

A mountain troll had attacked her in the girls' lavatory. It shouldn't have happened, shouldn't have been possible, Hermione knew that already. Dangers like that shouldn't exist in a school for children. Although the Whomping Willow and that Cerberus that lived on the third floor corridor certainly argued that Hogwarts was somewhat lax in its safety standards.

A part of her still felt fearful, another part numb that it had even happened. But an even stranger, surprisingly large part of her felt giddy at the very thought. It was just like the adventures she read about in the summer time. She was a witch, going to school in a magical castle, making potions in dungeons, and being attacked by trolls of all things. Her life, in a way she could never have imagined a year ago, was _exciting._ And that in itself was exciting.

_Hermione_, she scolded herself, _this is a serious matter, and most certainly not an adventure story. You could have been killed! _

The door to the room opened once more, and she heard the healer hurry over in greeting, "Headmaster Dumbledore! I was expecting Professor McGonagall!"

"Healer Smethwyck," The Headmaster greeted in a soft voice, turning to her with a nod, "Minerva is picking up Ms. Granger's parents. But I wanted to see how Ms. Granger was doing myself." Hermione stared at him with wide eyes as best she could from her lying position, feeling far more awake than she had seconds earlier.

She had of course read everything she could get her hands on about their Headmaster. Once getting a glimpse of his notoriety in _Hogwarts, A History_, she had jumped to _The Dark Arts Outsmarted _and _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_ to read more. Not to mention _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_, _Prefects Who Gained Power,_ _A History of Magic_, oh how could she forget _A History of Magic,_ the list went on and on to titles she hadn't even begun to read yet, and not for lack of trying. There was just _that_ _much_ that talked about the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Simply put, the wizened man was one of the most impressive wizards alive.

A small amount of hero-worship was a practical given.

And now he was visiting her of all things, sweeping across the room in fluorescent robes spotted in ovals of various shapes and sizes, and staring at her over half-moon glasses.

He smiled, "It's good to see you awake, my dear. How are you feeling?"

Hermione squeaked, flushed red and tried again, managing a scratchy "Good, thank you."

Professor Dumbledore conjured a comfortable looking chair with a simple flourish of his wand, sitting in it mindfully. He took a moment to collect himself and observe her critically, and she could only lay there in petrified silence. The professor sighed heavily, the lines of age deepening on his face, "Ms. Granger, I must express my deepest apologies for what you went through. Hogwart's is, of course, fully paying whatever expenses necessary to have you well again."

_Wood showering on top of her, roaring in her ears, heart and mind screaming in terror_ – She blinked the images away with a heavy breath, wishing she could clench her fists. On second thought, Hermione was grateful she didn't have the physical means to freak out with the professor watching. She attempted a brave face instead, noting that the Headmaster seemed open enough for her to ask questions.

"I don't understand, Professor," Hermione said honestly, "Why—" she shook her head, changing the question. Could anyone really answer _why _a mountain troll attacked anyone? They were naturally hostile, she'd read that. The more important question was, "How did a t-troll get into the castle?" her voice was quiet, "Where did it come from?"

"It would appear it accidently wandered in through the lower dungeons," the Headmaster answered. "We can only guess it came down from the high mountains."

_That wasn't possible_, her mind nudged, text flashing in front of her eyes, "But—" Hermione hesitated, not wanting to disagree.

Curious, Professor Dumbledore tilted his head, "Yes, Ms. Granger?"

"Sir, I read in _Hogwarts, A History_ that the school was surrounded by wards that prevented wildlife from coming in," she said uncertainly. The book had been an anchor so far, she couldn't imagine it being wrong. "With the Forbidden Forest so close, it's a necessary precaution for the students. By what I read, a m- mountain troll shouldn't have even been able to cross Hogwart's grounds."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, observing her closely, "That is correct, Ms. Granger. Normally the wards would have alerted me to the troll's presence. This one," he said gravely, "seems to have been the exception. But I promise you, it is something that will not happen again."

She momentarily caught the feeling that something far more serious was happening, that this was some small piece to a much larger puzzle. She waved the niggling thought away, knowing that there was nothing she could do. If anyone could handle it, it was Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Oh," Professor Dumbledore said, reaching into his robes with a twinkle growing in his eye, "I almost forgot."

He pulled out a flamboyantly large card, "You're classmates have asked this be delivered to you. I believe Mr. Seamus Finnegan provided the artwork. It is most expertly done, if I do say so myself."

The card was painted in glaringly obvious Gryffindor colors, and drawn on the front was a cartoon girl in robes and a witch's hat that, even as she watched, stomped over and over again on the head of a crying troll. She eyed it in wonder, even as Professor Dumbledore set it on the table next to her bed. "It is signed by everyone in your house, all wishing you well and quite eager for your return."

Very aware of the fact that almost nobody in her House knew her, those that did hardly being friendly, Hermione still couldn't help but feel very touched at the intent. She was awed that the _entire_ House had gathered to sign it just for her.

"And this," he pulled out a poorly wrapped box, only slightly larger than the hand it was resting on, "was asked to be given to you in person, by one Ronald Weasley. It was quite brave of him to approach me during breakfast," he continued cheerfully. "Unfortunately, it seems that being the Headmaster makes people rather nervous, especially around mealtimes."

"Oh!" Hermione said in a tiny voice, cheeks burning at the thought that Ronald had even thought to give her something, and wrap it himself by the looks of it. She blinked rapidly, stomach uncomfortably squirming and warm at the same time. "That –" she paused, looking away, "That was nice of him."

"Though I assured him that a troll escaping into the castle took more than even the wiliest of First Year Gryffindors," the Headmaster said thoughtfully, peering at her over his glasses, "He seemed to be of the thought that this whole terrible affair was his fault. I assume he was referring to whatever reason had you away from our Halloween feast, and not the unleashing of the beast upon the castle?"

Hermione's face flushed, her stomach squirming even more. In her embarrassment, she completely missed the suggestion that the troll might have been _unleashed, _of all things. "He—" she began, "I—" she cut off feeling very foolish. "It was nothing, sir. A silly remark that I took poorly, nothing more. I was – collecting myself in the lavatory."

"Ah," Dumbledore said knowingly, voice soft, "Words have a way hurting us all far more than most things. We can only hope to grow stronger for them."

They sat there in companionable silence for a moment more, Hermione feeling both awkward and awed. Seriously. It was _Professor Dumbledore._

"I would, after what happened," Dumbledore finally said in a more serious tone, his gaze very penetrating, "understand perfectly if you wished to withdraw from Hogwarts, my dear. Your parents have spoken some on the very subject."

She squirmed as best she could in whatever locking charm they had her under, perfectly aware of her parents' already hesitant take on the magical world. Having her attacked by a troll and sent to a hospital would hardly encourage them to let her continue. She had the feeling this was the largest reason why Dumbledore was visiting, to tell her the bad news.

"Though I do hope you will consider staying," The Headmaster continued. She startled, and the shock must have shown clearly on her face.

Dumbledore smiled gently, "I'd hate to see such an unfortunate accident ruin your future in our world, my dear. You have already gained the praise of all of your professors, and are ahead of most of your fellow classmates by leaps and bounds. With your muggle background, that is quite extraordinary."

She could only grin shyly at the praise.

"It would be a shame for such talent to go to waste," The professor continued, still observing her over his half-moon spectacles. The weight of having the Headmaster's attention solely on her, of one of the most powerful wizards of the age wanting her to continue at _his school _was more than she could handle.

Of _course_ she wanted to keep going to Hogwarts. It wasn't everyday one got offered the chance of an entirely new world, and she wasn't going to let the opportunity go. She couldn't think of anything that would make her want to. Excluding another troll of course, but the chances of that had to be impossible. Especially with the professor's promise.

But still, she hesitated. Her parents –

"It is your choice, my dear," Dumbledore said, almost as if reading her mind, "and your choice alone. If you wish to continue your education, I am sure your parents will agree."

Taking a deep breath, she spoke in a shaking, but resolute voice, "I want to continue, sir. I want to be a witch."

* * *

_**Present Day**_

New York University was an urban maze she realized dazedly, referring down to her map once more. Hermione had thought nothing could be worse than struggling with the travelling staircases as a First Year, but she was wrong. NYU didn't need moving staircases. Spread out over a number of city blocks, the sheer size did a good enough job in turning a person around.

"Lost?" a low voice near her shoulder asked and Hermione looked up. A young man with short brown hair and a ready smile stood behind her.

She shook her head in frustration. "No, no I know perfectly well where_ I_ am. It's the Grundler building I can't seem to find. Surely it would be with the other Natural Science buildings," she said exasperatingly, "It only makes _sense_ that it'd be with _all_ of the other Natural Science buildings."

"Ah," he grinned, "there's your problem. The first thing you have to learn about college, and college campuses by inclusion," he added with a nod to their surroundings, "is that they rarely make sense. For instance, the Grundler building is in the Liberal Arts quad," he leaned over her map, before tapping it triumphantly with his finger, "here."

She peered at it herself. What must be the shortened form of the building name, GRN, was written in tiny print right below a small square that surely enough was surrounded by Liberal Arts departments. "Oh! Well," she looked up again, "Thank you very much."

"It's my job," He said with another grin, pointed at his shirt which read "_INFORMATION SERVICES __– need help? Ask!"_

"First week tends to be a little hard on the fishies, so they send us on the prowl."

She blinked, almost afraid to ask. "I'm sorry, _fishies_?"

He laughed, "Nickname for freshman. Don't worry, it's all in good fun."

"Right," she said, not getting it at all. "Well, thanks again."

He threw out a hand, "I'm Rick. You need anything else, I'll be here all week."

She tucked the map under an armpit, reaching out to shake his hand, "Hermione. I'm sure I'll manage."

He grinned again, "Just be careful out there. This campus tends to swallow people up whole."

Shaking her head in amusement, she headed for the Liberal Arts Quad at a brisk walk. It wouldn't do to be late her first day, and the hour wandering around campus in a subtle daze hadn't helped the nervous pit in her stomach.

The Grundler building was smaller than the others that surrounded it, obviously one of the older structures around campus. Heading inside, she thankfully found the auditorium she was in directly down the stairs to the left. A good number of students had already collected inside, and she kept her unease at the large number to herself. Nearing what must be two hundred bodies were dispersed around the audience hall, and that only filled half of the seats. Her largest class in the last six years had been forty students.

Making her way to the front, she sat down quietly in the third row. After what the attention from being the front-row-sitter, hand-always-in-the-air, perfect score student had brought her, Hermione had decided to take a more subtle approach during class. She would never lower the quality of her work – the very idea was outrageous – but she had no intention of standing out by being the obvious know-it-all. One of her regrets in Hogwarts had been how much her overt enthusiasm in class had kept her so isolated from everyone else, and an what an easy target she'd become because of it.

The lack of motivation she had seen at Hogwarts had been completely and utterly baffling, only a few students had seemed to bother with it at all. Her zeal for academics had been seen as a fault, rather than a boon. But it had been some time since she had been in a muggle classroom. Maybe – hopefully – things were different here, especially considering it _was_ a university.

Tired of the sick bundle of nerves sitting in her stomach, Hermione pulled out her textbook, flipping it open to reread some of the more complicated passages as she waited for the professor to arrive. With the time she'd have on the train every morning and the long evenings that grew longer every night she struggled with sleep, she had a feeling that she'd be getting to know her textbooks quite well. The reading now was more of a comfort mechanism.

Physics had always been interesting to her. It explained things with a precision that soothed her critical side, unlike magic, whose theories required a certain amount of circular reasoning to even function properly.

With physics, nature wasn't only observed, it was systematically broken down, tested, and identified. Gravity wasn't only understood as a universal force of attraction acting between objects with matter or energy, it was broken down into a geometric _property_ brought on by the curvature of space time, and distilled into a mathematical formula of general relativity.

Whereas while magical theory outlined and identified different magical behaviors, such as levitation or healing, theorists were for the most part satisfied with stopping at solely what magic could _do_. Research into what magical phenomena itself actually _was _or _how _it could do the phenomena it did fell spectacularly short – witches and wizards alike were quite comfortable with just saying that magic was _magic _and calling it a day. Even Arithmancy, which studied numbers, lacked the same drive that the natural sciences had.

In short, the return to the scientific method was one thing she could breathe easier about. She suspected that most of the students in this room were taking this class because it was mandatory. Hermione was taking it because Physics was _soothing; _a veritable pathway to tranquility. Running her mind through various theorems and equations was a balm on her frayed nerves, and it offered a stability that the her personal life seemed to lack.

After some time, the auditorium filled and the professor arrived. Hermione studied him eagerly over her textbook, as he was the first new instructor she'd had in over six years. He was in a wheelchair, rolling it down an aisle and then up a ramp to the stage with practiced effort. Wearing a brown sweater vest over a light blue dress shirt, brown slacks and dark shoes, he seemed to be the very stereotype of a college professor, glasses and receding hairline included.

Connecting a personal laptop to the desk centered on the stage, he turned a projector on and dimmed the lights to the room silencing everyone fairly quickly.

"Hello, everyone," he called out, a speaker spreading his voice throughout the room,"I am Professor Geoffery Crawford, and this is Advanced Introductory Physics."

She felt the excitement that she only ever felt on the first day of class, moving to pull out a pen and pad of paper.

"This is my first year here at NYU, so you'll have to bear with me. I was previously found at Desert State," some impressed voices whispered around the room, "until, well," he gestured down at his chair. "But don't think me being in a wheel chair means any of you getting off easy." He looked around the room sharply, as if daring any of them to try.

"I _will _be reading through every assignment and _every_ paper, and my standards are high. You are enrolled to learn Physics, and in here you _will _be learning Physics, whether you want to or not. I have no attendance policy, but there are pop quizzes, daily assignments, and lectures that you'll want to consider before sleeping in in the mornings. You'll find the syllabus online, and any questions should be directed to my TA. Now, let us begin."

* * *

The following months found Hermione falling into an easy regime. Easy because it only existed of a few things: home, university, and a good deal of time in between at any library she could dig her claws into. Classes were aggressive as she had chosen an advanced track, but they could hardly compare to a time when she'd needed a time turner to fit everything in like her Third Year or a constant source of Pepper-Up Potions to stay alive through like her Fifth.

She tackled both her Physics and Chemistry classes with a passion, her interest in them growing far past the normal academic drive. Having now been a party to both worlds, Hermione now had the burning desire to understand the nature of the science between them.

As it was, muggle science tried to wholly understand nature, but it lacked the full picture, the magical end of the equation hiding an innumerable amount of variables within. If she could learn how to apply what she knew about magic and the magical world to the laws of physics, or take the magical qualities of natural objects into consideration for chemistry, doors to knowledge no one had even dreamed of could be opened.

It kept her preoccupied at least.

And if she had arranged her desk and the materials on it to face a window whose blinds she now left determinedly open, and if she stared out into the shadows at night looking for more strange cats- well, that kept her preoccupied too.

For now, she sat in a corner booth of the pizza place a short walk away from her apartment. She would keep her itinerary solely to the campus, her apartment, and the libraries in between, but her parents had started giving her concerned looks again. Why they thought making friends was _so_ important, she began exasperatingly.

So, pizza place it was. She could say she'd been hanging around people her age at least.

Books, both from class and the library a few blocks over were strewn out across the entire table, and she scribbled furiously on scratch paper. Her physics class had assigned a paper asking students to question or create their own theory over any discipline or law they wanted. While the paper was done and turned in early at that, Hermione having already spent several sleepless nights up to complete it with hair frizzing into a larger and larger mass that deserved a paper all unto itself, the prompt had sparked a new, pushing interest in the subject.

Subtle behaviors in the way solid and liquid elements reacted to electromagnetic force, the changes of physical properties while under superconducting or different quantum leveled pressures; it paralleled laws that dictated magical transfiguration in such a way that suggested–

"_Hey, look at that!"_

The considerable hush that fell over the room had her look up. People were looking up at several TV monitors that lined the walls, and with a frown she turned to the one closest to her.

It was a news channel, the video capturing the city from the air.

"Hey, someone turn this up," a voice called out. The volume rose, a woman's voice was speaking insistently, _"—just saw our first live glimpse of the masked figure people are calling Spiderman. It seems we've lost him in the buildings. Robert, why don't we show the clip again?"_

The film flickered to a different location, the camera shakily zooming in close to several downtown buildings. Hermione leaned forward curiously, eyes searching the screen. Something red and blue shot across it quickly, and the camera attempted to zoom out to compensate. The figure swung between two buildings again, high above the traffic below. _A person? _Hermione asked herself, whatever it was moving too quickly to get a clear shape.

The camera tried to zoom in once more and the figure moved, a limb shooting forward. Though whatever happened wasn't clear, the being was jerked into that direction with another arching swing. It disappeared behind a taller building. The news helicopter lifted but the being was nowhere to be seen. "_For those of you just tuning in, Spiderman was spotted by our news team fleeing the scene of a bank robbery in progress. As you can see, our attempts to follow were short-lived. Though there have been a steady surge of sightings, this is the first verifiable footage of the strange vigilante in action. We go to Julia Moore, with more at the scene. Julia?" _

The restaurant erupted into a louder level of excited noise, although from everyone's lack of attention to whatever was being said next, this _Spiderman_ was fairly old news. She narrowed her eyes, maybe she _did_ need to go out more, as she had never even heard of it.

Seeing the time and figuring that it was time to go home anyway, she began the long process of collecting all of her things and fitting them into her bag, making a note to research the fellow when she got home.

Falling out of the restaurant and walking down the surprisingly empty streets, she considered the 'vigilante.' The person's acrobatics were impressive and his suit was odd enough to warrant comment, but it was whatever he was using to travel that was interesting – inexplicable, even.

It couldn't be magic. Hermione could mark that off the list of suspects immediately. Any wizard reckless enough to garner this much muggle attention would've been stripped of his wand long ago. But whatever it was certainly wasn't mundane, some unheard of technological feat, and that only made her want to know more. Some kind of rope or wire the man was able to direct with his hands, maybe? Though it seemed an awful risk, grappling hooks were hardly 100% effective and he was flying through the air at high speeds, which didn't give him enough time to scout for secure locations to fix them to.

Her senses tingled, something in her mind saying that she wasn't alone, despite the empty street. Having been around enough to know when to trust her instincts Hermione immediately focused her awareness to her surroundings. A few more steps and she stopped, tilting her head to look at the building opposite to her. The brick complex next to it threw shadows across the roof and her eyes narrowed.

"Who's there?" she called out. The shadows moved, confirming her suspicions. Hand moving for the pepper-spray her parents had convinced her to keep in the side pocket of her bag, she considered just ignoring the movement entirely and walking at a faster pace the rest of the way home.

Bad things tended to crop up with her curiosity. Or when she was close to Harry Potter – Hermione added wryly. Nothing jumped out at her with the moment's contemplation so she shook her head, decision made, and turned to keep walking. Moments later she heard the faint whisp of something flying through the air and turned. A glimpse of something red disappeared onto the roof of the buildings behind her.

An eye twitched of its own volition. The feeling growing that things in New York might be more complicated than she'd originally thought.

* * *

Days later, Hermione fiddled with her hands anxiously as she walked down the hallway. One of her professors, Dr. Crawford as it so happened, had sent her an email asking for her to come to office hours.

She hadn't made any attempts to approach her professors outside of class, satisfied with what she could access from the lectures and turning to her trusty sidekick, the Queens Borough Public Library when she had a question. So the only reason she could think that he would want to talk to her was the essay turned in one week earlier.

Hermione wanted to bury her head in her hands, already regretting taking such a jump on the class paper. She normally didn't do risks academically, but this, physics, well it was exciting. She hadn't felt such a drive since Arithmancy, which had seemed to offer some avenue of understanding for the way magic worked - at least in relation to numbers.

And maybe that was why she was pushing so hard, to make up for the fact that she wouldn't be dabbling directly in Arithmancy ever again. Or maybe this was some more of that desperation to find the right fit. She couldn't say, and whenever she examined it too closely she felt that uneasy energy that had been with her since the start of this whole adventure, so she tried not to examine it at all.

The door to the office she was looking for was open, the professor inside facing the other way, looking through work on his computer. Hermione knocked politely on the door frame, standing at the entrance, "Dr. Crawford?"

The man turned, pushing his glasses up to catch sight of her. Masterfully, he directed his wheelchair from the computer to his desk directly facing her.

"Ah yes," he said, looking up at her with scrutinizing eyes. "Ms. Granger, thank you for coming. Please take a seat," he gestured in front of him.

Biting her lip, she sat down on the cold plastic, clutching her bag in front of her. "I'm sorry, Dr. Crawford. Was there something wrong with my paper?" She ran over the requirements in her head quickly, "I realize I might have gone over the length require—"

"No, no, your paper was fine. More than fine," Dr. Crawford continued to look at her carefully, and her feeling of being a particularly interesting bug specimen increased. "That's actually the reason I called you here, Ms. Granger. Your paper. . ." he shook his head incredulously, not able to finish his sentence.

Her heart sunk, she'd received that response before.

It wasn't like she purposefully did this. But Hermione had the _small _tendency to overdue things. It was a problem, she knew it. It didn't seem like the worst habit a student could have, so she had never let it bother her too much. Hermione was sure her teachers at Hogwarts just thanked the gods that magical essays tended to lean more towards the informative than the analytical.

He leaned over the desk, a drawer sliding open as he shuffled around before pulling out a stapled essay packet. He dropped it on his desk, flipping up the cover page to glance at the writing beneath it and Hermione made out her name in fine, Times New Roman print.

The professor shook his head, expression inscrutable as he glanced back up at her again. Resting both arms on the desk, he leaned forward, "Ms. Granger, they have me teaching an Advanced Introductory Physics class. We run through a number of equations, formulas, basic Physics theory that everyone needs to know. I only assign this paper as a way to keep students thinking creatively, trying to keep them from falling into the easy mental trap of making this class, and physics, solely about memorization. I don't expect anything to come from it."

Hermione shifted, feeling even guiltier. She had been excited about the freedom Crawford had given them, had wanted to test out some of the ideas that had begun to form in her mind. But the longer she sat here, the more she knew shouldn't have done it.

"This work goes far past what's expected in my class," Dr. Crawford said seriously, and that only cemented her belief. She should've stuck with questioning the theory of relativity like any normal student would. Crawford continued unaware of her internal criticism, "Far past what's expected of an undergraduate such as yourself. Hell," he muttered, "My graduate students had trouble reading this."

She winced, "I apologize, sir, I have trouble with diction. I can work on tha—."

He held up a hand, stopping her.

"It's not your diction that's the problem, Ms. Granger. Some of these ideas that you suggest," he shook his head again. "They jump far past the range of classical, even modern physics. Your discussion of condensed matter for example," he looked up at her sharply, eyes piercing behind his glasses. "Ignoring the fact that we haven't even broached those theories in class, Ms. Granger, your analysis, strange as it is, falls more in line of with criticisms I've read from top physicists around the globe. Theories not out for public consumption."

Finally leaning back, Dr. Crawford continued, picking at the edges of her essay. "I would accuse you of plagiarism, but frankly, there isn't any work on this subject out there for you to plagiarize."

She froze in her seat, academic dishonesty an accusation that haunted her dreams.

"Just who _was _your physics teacher in high school, if you don't mind me asking?" Crawford asked with obvious interest.

"I—" she hesitated, "I didn't really have one. I passed out of the A-Level exam for it in England."

The flat stare she got in response made her dig for more, "I do a lot of outside reading. The library by my house was very resourceful."

He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face, "Right. Well, I don't need to tell you that you might as well test out of my class too. And Physics II and III while you're at it."

Hermione blinked, "What?"

Dr. Crawford dropped his hand, "I don't know what outside reading you've got your hands on, Ms. Granger, but it's obvious that you're well beyond Introductory Physics."

She opened her mouth, paused, and then shut it, considering.

Part of her felt guilty, felt like she was cheating somehow. The reason why she was able to make such leaps was because she had access to knowledge that no one else had. Or rather, no one who would care to use it properly. Magic was _real_. Particles of matter could react in a breadth of ways muggle physicists couldn't even dream of, not unless they started taking direction from fantasy like _Lord of the Rings_. And even then, it was only through the application of magical rule and theory she had learned at Hogwarts that made any of her ideas possible. Once you held up both sides, it was easy – or rather, moderately less difficult. Magic had an unpredictable edge that muggle rationality couldn't quite capture, and that fought against logical modes of thought. Put to test by muggle processes, it was complete ludicrous in most cases.

Aside from the magical advantage, Hermione was really just your average undergrad – Granted, a rapid-reading one with an eidetic memory, a somewhat high IQ, and far too much time on her hands.

Another part of her, the part of her that strived for academic success alone, was very, very pleased. If someone like Crawford, who _was_ one of the best in his field thought that she could move forward that quickly, then she must be doing something right.

"Your file shows that you're undeclared in your major," Crawford began again speculatively, having given her an appropriate amount of time to think. "Just what is it that you're looking for, Ms. Granger? What is it that you want to do with your life?"

Hermione shifted in her seat.

That was the question wasn't it? She had a large chart that held an entire list of options, all of them thoroughly pro-ed and con-ed, tacked on her bedroom wall back home, and it asked exactly that. But something held her back. Ties that she still hadn't been able to shake off.

"I'm not sure," she chose neutrally. "I haven't really been able to answer that."

"Well," Crawford said curtly in response, leaning forward with a firm stare, "Then let me be the one to answer for you. _Physics_, Ms. Granger. You were born to do physics."

**To be continued.**

* * *

**AN: So, first things first. The thought of science scares me, Hermione Granger is levels above me in brain power, and just staring at the physics Wikipedia page hurts my brain. Do NOT expect much rational science talk coming from this. Some authors can pull it off, not me. I will try, and will I die a horrible death of spontaneous combustion.**

**Second, questions have been asked about what marvel mediums this fic is taking place in. The simple answer is, I mainly draw from the movies for the timeline and big events – except for SONY's The Amazing Spiderman which will be taken with a grain of salt. Comic elements and characters are fair game and will be used. If you mention a character or event that you like in the reviews, they do have more of a chance of being included in here somewhere and will at least be considered.**

**The more convoluted answer is that I have better access to the movies than anything else, and they're the easiest, most straightforward canvas I can work on. I've dabbled more in the comic books than in the cartoons, most of which seem to pull heavily from comics anyway, but I'm no expert. I can't lay out an explicit timeline/arc for all of the characters I plan on using, and that makes me uncomfortable. I NEED a timeline. So, other than saying this takes place on Earth 616, I can't give definitive answers – unless you ask. Then, maybe. **

**Aztec13: **So the above explanation is for you :) I _will_ be leaning a lot on the Ultimate Spider-Man comics for Spidey though. And Doctor Strange is an awesome idea. I was also weighing out on the Wizard. Neither would be able to happen in the near future, but I'm crossing my fingers that I find a way to fit them in.

**Zillakong: **Sandman is a go. And I do like the comics. I can also see some terrified high schoolers thrown in here somewhere too. Sooo. Maybe. coughcoughyescough. The civil war story arc is scary and intimidating and I have a very weak will. It's up in the air, but where I'm at in the timeline means I have some time to consider it.

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Those words and every added story/favorite are my fuel, my happy juice, the ambrosia to my gods, the cookies to my cream, the twinkle in my eye! Yeah. So thanks again.**

**Again, thoughts, questions, unfiltered stream of conscience – it's all fair game in a review. **

**Thanks for reading,**

**StrictlySomething**


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

_**6 Years Earlier**_

Resting in the Common Room with her books surrounding her, Hermione ticked another day off her internal calendar. Three more weekly visits and Madame Pomfrey should give her a clean bill of health. No more therapy, no more potions. She let out another sigh of relief at the thought, sinking into the cushions of her seat and ignoring the twinge it sent through her back. She had a right to slouch every once and a while, she thought rebelliously.

Sensing someone watching her, she turned her head. Neville stood a few feet away, an awkward look on his face as he debated approaching her. Seeing her blinking owlishly his way, he smiled nervously and approached.

"Um," he began, still as fretful as he'd been the first day they'd met in the train. "Hello Hermione. The Hospital Wing go well?"

She grinned, straightening her back into a more appropriate posture. "Oh yes, definitely. Madame Pomfrey says everything's healing 'optimally.'"

Neville nodded, hands finding a worn spot on the chair in front of him that he stared at ardently.

Befuddled, Hermione asked, "Was something wrong, Neville?"

He sighed shakily, "It's just," he glanced at her quickly, "well. I was having a lot of trouble with the homework Flitwick had given us—"

"Oh!" Hermione asked, brightening because it was something she was actually good at, "Well why didn't you just say so! I finished that _ages_ ago, I'd be happy to help. What part were you having trouble with?"

Neville blushed red in shame, "A-all of it," he fretted, pulling at a loose piece of red string, "I still haven't gotten the spell to work, actually."

"Well," Hermione said thoughtfully, eyeing the books around her. Books had given her all of the answers, she'd only be happy to pass that forward to anyone that would listen. "What I do when I have trouble with a spell, if rechecking the pronunciation and wand movement doesn't work, is look at the theory behind it. _Magical Theory," _she said, leaning over the table to pick up her own copy. "Flitwick hasn't assigned past chapter three yet, but I found four through seven to be particularly helpful for charms we're currently on."

He shuffled, "Oh, okay, thanks," he said faintly, eyeing the large book. She winced, remembering that the others in her year acted as if they were allergic to reading.

"I suppose it _is_ a lot of reading to do for an assignment due in two days," she allowed graciously, setting the book back down onto the table with a light thump. "Why don't you show me what you have so far," she offered instead, not at all bother by the prospect. People were certainly nicer to her than they had been pre-troll, but it would be rather nice to have someone actually sit at her study table for a change.

She wasn't blind to the fact that Neville had as many problems as her with making friends, either - although Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter seemed to adopt him into their fold on occasion, that seemed more accidental and spur of the moment than anything.

Neville brightened, "Oh, thank you Hermione! I'll go grab my things." Running off to the boy's dormitories, Hermione winced as he tripped over a step on his way up. How could someone be so uncoordinated? She idly considered whether the boy's eyesight was off.

She stood up to clear off a Neville sized space at the table, looking around the room as she did so. It was fairly empty; she suspected most people were out enjoying the last of the weekend. Strangely enough, the two she'd just thought of, weren't. Harry and Ronald had taken up two of the armchairs near the corner window, whispering excitedly to each other over stacks of forgotten homework.

From the looks on their faces they thought the world was about to end. She'd heard about their duel with that Malfoy boy. The Slytherin had probably made some other slight to their honor that had them planning a comeback. _Boys, _she thought exasperatingly, so eager for the next adventure. She'd definitely had her fair share of those, thank you.

Still, the nosier side of her couldn't help but feel curious.

A loud, disgruntled thump and a "_Sorry, Seamus!" _later had Neville hurrying back over, and she pushed her curiosity away. Schoolwork was far more important.

"I, uh," he panted somewhat laboriously, plopping his bag down, "I brought everything. Do you think you could help me with Transfiguration too?"

She beamed, "Certainly!"

He sighed in relief, "Thanks again, Hermione. I know you must be busy, what with just getting out of St. Mungo's and all. I don't know how you're keeping up," he said downtrodden, the fact that a girl who'd spent the month in the hospital was more caught up than him just depressing.

"Professor McGonagall brought all of my homework and copies of the notes from lecture," Hermione said. "And I didn't have much else to do." Aside from her parents' visits, and light conversation with Mr. Grimpston once he'd gotten his tongue back, she had been left to her own devices. She didn't tell the boy that the assignments had been done, sorted, and double checked rather early, the rest of her time spent reading ahead.

Originally, she'd worried that she'd be terribly behind of course, but when they'd finally released her back to Hogwart's the classes moved at the same gradual pace they had started at, and she easily slid back into the fold. The only class that had been troubling was Potions, which had required a number of brewed concoctions that she could hardly produce while sitting in a bed.

Professor Snape had reluctantly opened up a block on Saturdays so that she could complete the potions that she had missed. The fact that she was in a _Remedial _Potions class had her near the point of tearing her hair out in frustration. Surprisingly, the one-on-one work with Professor Snape was less of the glaring and snide remarks that normally came with his direct supervision and more him sitting at his desk grading papers, only bothering to walk around her work station at pivotal –read, explosive— points of the brewing process.

A loud round of furious whispering from the window distracted her, and she looked over once more. "Just what _are_ they up to?" she asked curiously.

"Oh!" Neville said as he pulled a stack of disorganized parchment onto the table. "You didn't see the Quidditch match, did you?"

Hermione shook her head. She'd chosen the library instead of the frigid temperatures and students beating themselves up over brooms.

Neville leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, "Well, someone cursed Harry's broom."

Her eyebrows raised in alarm, "_Cursed his broom_?" she whispered back.

He nodded, happy for once that he was on the knowing end of the deal, "In mid-Flight. Harry almost fell."

She put her hand to her mouth in horror, "That's terrible! Did they catch who did it?"

Neville sat down, looking indecisively as if he knew more and wondered at saying it. "Well," he dragged out after a moment, taking a breath to brace himself. "They think it's P-professor Sn-snape."

"_Professor Snape?_" she whispered even more incredulously. The man was monstrously strict, and completely unforgiving of the mistakes of Gryffindors yes. And sure, he treated Harry, and Neville, with even more vitriol than the rest. But that hardly meant he'd try to _murder_ a student –

"Why would he put a curse on a student's broom?"

Neville squirmed. _"_After the match – Malfoy had hexed my feet together, so I had hopped over to Ron and Harry hoping that they could help." Others weren't as patient with the clumsy boy, certainly. "Hagrid was there, talking to them. He offered to fix me up at his cabin, so I tagged along. Oh, that reminds me. Hagrid has a _wand_ in his umbrella," Neville said in awe. "He can do _magic_ too."

Putting aside the surprise that Draco Malfoy could perform something as advanced as a Leg-Locker Curse, and that Hagrid was apparently a wizard as well as a groundskeeper, Hermione leaned forward to hear more.

"You remember that th-three headed dog we found, right?" Neville asked, returning back to his frightened story telling. The guilt from breaking the rules that night, the fear at seeing the Cerberus standing over them came rushing back, and she nodded.

"Well," Neville said uncomfortably, "It's Hagrid's, apparently." Wizard, grounds-keeper, and Cerberus owner? It was almost more interesting than the fact that someone wanted a student dead or injured. Her mind spun as Neville continued, "Harry— Harry thinks that Professor S-snape is after whatever it's guarding."

There was a pause. Maybe Neville just wasn't explaining it well, but she didn't see the connection. Hermione finally said, obviously skeptical, "And he wants to _kill Harry too_? Neville, he's our _professor._"

Neville shrunk drown, "I don't know, Hermione. You've seen the way h-he's looked at Harry in class? I mean, it's obvious why he h-hates me, I'm c-clumsy and t-terrible at potions. But Harry hasn't done anything and he treats him twenty times worse."

She considered it for a moment, conceding to the fact that Professor Snape was a very very angry man, and for whatever reason that anger seemed directed at Harry quite frequently. It was the worst temperament that she'd ever seen on a teacher, but apparently he'd been here for years and the Gryffindor bashing was nothing new. She couldn't see someone just snapping and putting a curse on a student's broomstick out of the blue like that. She turned to the other glaringly obvious problem.

"Okay, but why would he want to steal something from Hogwart's? From under Headmaster Dumbledore's nose?" She felt horrified even voicing the question. Why would _anyone _dare to do that?

Neville shook his head, "I don't know." He looked around, even more nervous. "Hagrid said something," he licked his lips, peeking over to the corner the two conspirators sat, "I p-promised I wouldn't say."

"Neville," she said evenly, splaying her hands over forgotten books and leaning forward with an even no-nonsense stare. "You've already told me that one of our Professor's is trying steal from Hogwart's, trying to _kill _Harry –"

Neville didn't need any more convincing, looking increasingly guilty as he continued. "He said a name. Said something about whatever that d-dog was protecting was between Dumbledore and – some guy named Flamel. Nicolas Flamel. But no one knows who he is. Harry and Ron have been trying to figure it out."

She froze, the name clicking somewhere in her brain.

Hermione had spent over a month at St. Mungo's, and following that, weeks in the Hospital Wing. When she wasn't doing homework or frenziedly reading through lecture notes and assigned books in the hope that she wouldn't fall too far behind, she had done quite a bit of reading on the side. Professor Mc Gonagall, and then Percy Weasley, the Prefect in charge of coming over to check in on her had both kept a very satisfying stack of tombs near her bed.

But Hermione read a lot, and all the time. The amount of information that she consumed on a weekly basis was more than most people bothered with in an entire year. One name was a little hard to pinpoint, especially as she'd most certainly considered it trivial at the time. It would take a moment to pull it back to the surface.

Her parents had said she was special for being able to pick up on the details, their smart little girl. The pediatrician she saw once a year had said she was blessed with a very powerful memory, possibly even an eidetic one. Otherwise she'd never be able to remember it all, which was horrifying to consider.

Nicolas Flamel registered faintly; a footnote in her growing storage of information accumulated on the Wizarding World.

"You're not going to tell, are you?" Neville worried his bottom lip, staring at her with pleading eyes. Hermione looked over at him hesitantly. This was _serious _business. `Even if Harry and Ron were completely wrong in their suppositions, having two –three, including Neville— students think one of their professors was evil was not healthy. And if even a little of it was true—

She sighed fretfully. Neville panicked, "Oh, _please don't_, Hermione! Harry and Ron would never forgive me!"

No, they wouldn't, Hermione acknowledged, feeling a moment of commiseration with the boy who just wanted to have friends. She glanced over to the corner, seeing the two boys had grudgingly started up on their homework. Her mind went to the chocolate frog Ron had sent her in St. Mungo's, his awkward and wary smiles that were shot at her when one caught the other staring in Charms.

A part of her didn't want to ruin that.

Having faced a troll, she would think her susceptibility to wanting to be liked by her peers would have dulled, but the knotted feeling in her stomach told her it hadn't in the slightest.

"No," she said regretfully, settling back down into her seat, "I suppose not."

She eyed the miserable First Year in front of her.

He was just as out of place as she was, if not more. But she had her books to help her, academics to keep her happily busy, an entirely new world to explore. He had a stern Nan, the habit of knocking things over and loudly exploding cauldrons. She couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Couldn't help but want to throw caution to the wind and listen to her heart rather than her head.

Making up her mind, she pulled over a scratch piece of parchment, grabbing a quill.

She wrote down the name of a book title, one that she had read quite thoroughly in the Hospital Wing. She read it out loud as her quill scratched over the parchment, "_Medieval Magic: The Wonders of the Dark Ages. _Chapter Seven, I believe. There's a passage in there that talks about Nicolos Flamel. He's an inventor of sorts._"_

She slid the parchment over, "So you won't forget."

Neville stared at her with a gaping mouth. She ignored it, ignored the tension in her gut, "If you show that to Ron and Harry, I'm sure they'll be quite happy." Quite happy indeed, Hermione thought,sensing that she'd just given the boy an in into the little group.

She finally heard Neville's jaw click shut with a snap.

"I won't tell anyone either," she finally said, ignoring the rule-abiding side of her brain that warned against it, all because of the way Neville's eyes lit up at the words and the growing warmth she felt in her chest. Maybe she was a little bit silly after all.

"But," Hermione said in warning, because she refused to throw everything she'd been taught out the window, and boys seemed to be particularly dense at the most important times. "You have to promise me that none of you will do anything foolish. And that you'll tell a _teacher_ if anything happens," she added.

He was nodding, a relieved smile growing on his face. "Yes, definitely."

Hermione sighed, "Alright then." Swallowing heavily, she pulled a book forward, "Enough of this silliness, let's get started."

As she flipped through the Charms book, searching for a particular chapter, Neville spoke again, voice quiet. "Thank you, Hermione. Really."

She smiled. Though it felt forced, she hoped that finding the book really helped the fellow Gryffindor. It would be comforting to know that she could give him the push he needed, even if she hadn't quite figured out how to do the same for herself.

"So," she said, looking down and blinking rapidly, "Let's start with. . . the Softening Charm."

* * *

_**Present Day**_

"-alright, class dismissed," Dr. Crawford said curtly, reaching the end of the day's power point slide. Hermione stood up from her seat in the second row and he called out, "Ms. Granger, a moment please."

Pulling her backpack over a shoulder, she walked up to the stage quickly, "Yes, Professor?"

Crawford stacked his lecture notes on the lowered podium before him, straightening out any loose leafs of paper. "Have you given thought to what I said?" he asked lightly, sliding the paperwork into the satchel at his side before turning to look at her fully.

She nodded as she shifted her own bag. "Yes, sir. I'm looking into CLEP testing, but I don't see much of a point in dropping this class with how far we are in the term."

"Of course," he nodded, agreeing. Resting the satchel between a thigh and the handle of his wheelchair, Crawford gestured with his head. "Walk with me," he said, a dry expression crossing his face that showed he was very aware of the irony the sentence produce, even as he wheeled his chair around. She followed him down the ramp obediently.

"I've been considering," he said, "Just what to do with you, Ms. Granger."

"Sir?" she asked politely.

"In one twenty page paper you've shown more potential than I see in most of my graduate student's theses," he said, rolling through the door at the end of the auditorium.

Shifting at the praise, she pushed the button for the lift considerately as they paused at the bottom of the stair well.

"I considered that it might be a fluke," he continued dryly. "That this is just a very lucky semester for you, but I find that unlikely."

The door slid open to the lift with a quiet bing, and he wheeled himself in – turning himself to face the front with practiced ease before Hermione followed. "Fourth floor," he said as she reached for the buttons. She hesitated, moving her hand up a few rows and hitting the button. As far as she knew, classrooms and student labs ended on the second floor. The three remaining above that were for staff only.

"So I have a proposal to make," Hermione blinked, looking over to where Dr. Crawford was studying her intently. "A trial period," he clarified, "for the duration of the semester where you show me just what you're capable of. And, if you pass, I'll willingly sponsor you for independent study."

She blinked again, hardly expecting that kind of offer. Doctorates of physics with the renown that Geoffery Crawford had didn't just sponsor people, especially undeclared freshman – no matter how good their essay were. The lift slowed and the door slid open. Crawford had to gesture for her to exit, and she did with a sharp click to shut her jaw, pulling herself out of the shock. He rolled out after her, passing her to go further down the hallway.

He stopped at a door, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a heavy keychain full of different keys. Selecting one, he lent over, pushing it into the door frame.

"It's," she considered her words as they stood there. "Well, it's an honor that you'd even consider me, and it's a great opportunity, but -"

Crawford raised an eyebrow expectantly, pulling the keys back and replacing them into his bag.

There it was, the but that hung off of everything she did these days. She shook her head, "I hardly qualify for independent study, sir. And I'm sure that there are those far more qualified to work with you."

She _was _just a freshman; one that had been in the Wizarding World for the past six years, treating physics more as a casual hobby than anything else. In a year or two, she could imagine herself pushing for more in her education, but she was just settling in.

"You hardly have my sponsorship yet, Ms. Granger. It _is_ a trial run for a reason," he began amusedly. "And I assure you, my expectations are high. If you accept, there is a lot of work involved. Most of which, would happen in here," he opened the door and gestured for her to go in, before he followed.

She stepped in, cautiously looking around the darkened room. A light flipped on and she felt her eyebrows rise.

"My personal labs. Slightly better quality than the labs the University has students working in," Crawford voice carried over from the door, and he wheeled over to her side.

Her fingers itched to touch the equipment her eyes picked up on. Accelerators, spectrometers, and detectors of a variety that she'd only been able to read about lined the far wall. She was in heaven. Hermione shook her head, trying to clear it.

"So," Crawford said, amusement in his voice, "What do you say Ms. Granger?"

_Yes, please._

"I don't understand. Why me?" She asked, her voice smaller. At Hogwart's, professors had been impressed by her pursuit of knowledge, by her complete conquering of every class and every spell, but no one had ever pushed her to go past that. McGonagall had been more than a little amused when she'd asked if she could test out of a grade, her second year. Had patted her on the head and given her a time-turner to keep herself occupied instead. Which, to be fair, it did quite well.

A bitter part of her that had risen later on in her schooling had asked if the inability to advance too far ahead was because of her muggle blood. Another part, bitter at seeing others get more acclaim in Quidditch or duels than herself in academics had asked if book smarts even amounted to anything in the Wizarding world.

"You're smart, driven. . . You remind me of another student I had, some time ago," Hermione glanced over at the nostalgic tone. Crawford's face was lost in the past. "He had much of the same promise, in the beginning."

She could sense a story there, but stayed quiet as her own thoughts overcame her. _This_, she eyed the lab, just this the chance, was more than she'd ever imagined being given. More than she could have even asked for. What she could do here – Maybe she _could _find her place in this world after all.

"Consider it a deal, Dr. Crawford," she said resolved, breathless at the possibilities.

Crawford smiled satisfactorily, "Excellent."

* * *

Hermione walked down the aisles of the small grocery store near her apartment a little more than an hour later, satisfied to go the rest of her day in a pleasant buzz, but mindful of the list of foods her parents had requested. A radio, reception slightly fuzzy, buzzed away on a local news station.

"—_and turning to more global news, it seems that weapons-manufacturer Anthony Stark is still nowhere to be found after his convoy was attacked on its way back from a military briefing in the Afghanistan mountains over six weeks ago. Twelve marines were killed in the attack, three injured –"_

She picked up a loaf of bread, laying it down gently in the basket around her arm. The door to the store chimed as she walked down the next aisle.

Police sirens rushed past from the street outside, and Hermione looked up in mild curiosity. Another police car sped past the windows quickly, even as she watched. The faint beating of sound leaking past the ceiling suggested a helicopter was above, and close to the ground. Something was most definitely going on around her. Looking up at the ceiling for a moment more, Hermione dropped her head back to the aisle with the intentions of grabbing her items a little faster.

A man was in the snack aisle with her, crouched down and breathing deeply, as if he'd just been running. It was the orange jumpsuit with **RIKERS ISLAND CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTE **printed in solid black on his back that made her pause.

_Bloody hell._

She'd just walked right into this one, hadn't she? Her ear still on the sirens, she eyed the man warily.

Her hand itched for a wand that was still packed away in a box on the upper shelf of her closest – for emergencies only. It would have been even further away, in England with the rest of her magical belongings, but images of Death Eaters bursting through the door had kept that from happening. Either way, it had no way of helping her now, even if she was willing to use it in a purely muggle situation.

She took a step back but froze as the man caught sight of her from behind an arm. He paused in his heavy breathing, straightening up and turning to face her. Another police car rushed past the store, and Hermione's eye twitched as the policeman inside didn't even look in their direction through the wide windows. She raised her arms in the universal sign of hold-it, considering her options.

The prison escapee was watching her doggedly, no doubt waiting for a scream.

Pepper spray was in her bag, in the side pocket, but in the time that it would take to reach it, he'd have easily put a fist through her face.

She _could_ scream, and hope the old lady attendant or some hidden customer came running to her aid. But that didn't sit well, and would also likely lead end with aforementioned fist-to-face.

Her physical fighting skills were subpar and the wandless magic that she _did_ know was only of the theoretical. Not to mention having the guy stuck to the ceiling when the authorities came would be a little hard-to-explain.

Her hand twitched all the same, considering.

He was having thoughts of his own, obviously. And she could bet that _easy hostage _orworsewas among them. He took a step forward, the dangerous look of a cornered animal growing on his face.

Breaking out of her thoughts, Hermione swung her basket of groceries at him with the most force she could manage, taking a heel and running in the opposite direction. The following smash and grunt told her that solid contact had been made. She stopped as she turned —noting that with the man's build, he'd be able to catch up to her easily once he collected himself – and pushed the tall, but poorly structured shelving into the aisle she'd just been standing in. It creaked ominously, before falling. The even louder grunt told her she'd caught him again.

Not giving it more thought, she took off in the direction of check-out, heart thudding in her chest. The old lady attendant and a young man in glasses were staring in the direction of the loud noise as she tore around a corner.

"_Police,_" she gasped out in her first breath, "Call the police." She threw a hand up to point behind her. "I think I found what they were looking for. Escaped inmate," she explained in another rush of breath. "He's in the snack aisle."

The kid took one look at her, at the direction she was pointing to, "Uh, right. I'll grab a phone," he said and then turned round and ran out the front door. Hermione and the attendant lady watched him turn the corner and disappear past the glass windows, and any phone in the near area.

The attendant lady had already grabbed the handle of the black phone at her terminal, dialing 911 with the practiced ease of a lifelong New Yorker. She looked over at Hermione, gesturing with her head, "Come stand behind the counter with me, dearie. And hold this in case he thinks of coming up this way," she pulled out a metallic baseball bat from underneath the counter. Hermione took it numbly as the old lady turned her attention back to the phone.

By the time the police arrived and searched the building, the inmate was long gone.

One of the policeman shook his head as he walked back up to them, "Looks like he got out the back exit."

He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, looking over at the both of them. "Now, which one of you ladies spotted him?"

Hermione stepped forward, "I did," she said firmly, handing Sheryl, the attendant lady her baseball bat back.

"He was in my aisle, wearing an orange jumpsuit from Rikers Island Correctional Institute."

The officer grunted. "William Baker," he informed them, "Goes by Flint Marko out on the streets. Just jumped the fence over at Riker's, we've been tracking him across the city since."

The radio at his side crackled to life. "_All officers be advised, masked vigilante known as Spiderman has been sighted in your area. Spiderman has been sighted."_

He took her statement, and his partner returned up front with her bag, but they were in an obvious rush to leave. "It's a manhunt," he explained, "The Commissioner's pulling out all the stops to make sure Marko's caught before that Spiderman or the feds get to him."

Hermione wondered if Spiderman was after the escaped criminal at all. The timing was conspicuous, but there was no way for him to have known that Flint Marko had been here.

He turned back to face her once more, "Damn good thinking on knocking that aisle over, Ms. Granger. Marko is not a man you want to run into."

The police cleared out, and Sheryll was nice enough to let her buy her groceries before she shut the entire store down. Escaped inmates didn't stop the Granger's from needing dinner.

"Hmm," the woman said, noticing something. "That boy left his wallet and all his groceries in his rush to get out of here," Sheryll said disapprovingly. She picked up the wallet, flipping it open, "Peter Parker," she read out loud, pulling out an ID and holding it further back to read better. She shook her head. "Needs a few lessons from my Larry if you ask me. Back in my day, a man wouldn't just leave us ladies here to fend for ourselves."

The name was familiar and Hermione felt her eyebrows rise in surprise. "Oh," she said, "I think I know him." She remembered May Parker talking about a son named Peter. "He lives a few doors down from me."

"Hm," Sheryll said unimpressed, "Well if he hasn't run all the way to Manhattan by now, you can let him know his wallet's here behind my counter."

"I suppose I can drop it off myself. His house is on the way," Hermione volunteered. She had a feeling that if Peter Parker ever ran into Sheryll the store attendant again he'd be getting a very long lecture on leaving two women behind with an escaped inmate.

The young man didn't look like he could hold his own against a strong wind, let alone the muscled man Hermione had run into, so she couldn't really blame him for pulling a disappearing act. Sometimes running was the better choice, even if it left a bad taste in the back of your mouth.

**To be continued.**

* * *

**AN: By now there have been several name drops, and plans for much bigger things are already in motion. Mwaha. The brilliance of Marvel is that so much is **_**always **_**going on, and this fic intends to keep up with that tradition. Beware the not so hidden Easter eggs. **

**To more serious news: I've been on a weeklong writing bender of about five thousand words a day for this story and drinking as much coffee as I've been drinking is turning my body into a toxic caffeine dump. What I'm getting to is, I'm slowing down on the updates from here on out so I don't burn out and/or die. I'm dialing it back to weekly for now.**

**The feedback for last chapter was amazingly nice. You guys deserve cyber cookies. A lot of them. **

**AZTEC 13: **Jaw drops. War World Hulk. . ._That_ is a powerful comic book name drop, friend. I would love to, but as much as my inner nerd screams yes, it just doesn't fit into the paradigm I'm setting up for this story. That said, it definitely deserves a story of its own. I can only imagine the possibilities.

**Guest (1&2): **Thank you! Glad you like it.

**Guest (3): **Yeah, your confusion is completely justified, both because it's physics and it's also me trying to write about physics. Between those two anything actually sounding reasonable is out the window. My apologies.

**Guest (4): **I know right? I squealed in joy as I wrote _it_. I'm super glad you're enjoying the story so far. And yes, Tony and Hermione's meet and greet is a guaranteed festival of awesome, at least in my mind. I've got the moment highlighted, underlined, and circled in my notes. :)

**Zillakong: **Next chapter is definitely going to be to your liking, there's a mini showdown of sorts :D. As for the Battle of New York and Spidey's fight with the Lizard, those are planned for the future so no worries there. Hermione's about to start asking a lot of questions. Hermione's mom works at a law firm, which might come more into play later – but not because of SHIELD. But don't worry, they're close by. They always are.

**Thanks again for your awesome support! **

**Questions, comments, ideas, criticisms, grocery lists – I want to hear it all, even if it's just a shout out to your favorite 80's movie. Example:**

**UHF **_**is**_** awesome. **

**Thanks for reading, **

**StrictlySomething **


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

_**Six Years Earlier**_

"Are you three _insane?_" Hermione whispered furiously at the three uniform-clad First Years standing before her. Their lack of sleepwear told her all that she needed to know. One of her hands clutched the armchair next to her harder, "You're sneaking out again, aren't you. After _everything –_"

Ron interrupted her, grasping his wand tightly at his side as he came to the other boy's defense, "Look Hermione, this has nothing to do with you—"

She blinked, the comment hitting like a slap to the face. "Nothing to do with me? The world doesn't revolve around _you, _Ronald. Your antics have already lost us the House Cup. Do you want Gryffindor to be even more of a laughing stock than it already _is_?"

"Stop calling me _Ronald_," he bit out childishly and Harry stepped forward, shaking off his own caught-in-the-headlights posture, "Hermione, _please_," he said urgently, "Just go back to bed."

"So you three can wander off and loose us more points?"

"You wouldn't understand—" Ron began again, his ears flushing red in anger.

"I wouldn't understand you breaking the rules again?" Hermione asked, looking harshly at the three of them. "You're right, I don't. Nothing warrants breaking the rules," she said firmly.

Neville spoke up hurriedly, "Hermione, i-it's serious. It's the F-flamel thing I told you about. "

The suspicion that this was about more than just sneaking around again was confirmed, and Hermione's thoughts jumped back to the conversation she'd had with Neville nearly one month earlier.

Ron gave an indignant squawk, turning to their nervous friend, "You told her!?"

Neville looked appropriately guilty, but Hermione interrupted before he could properly melt in shame, "Honestly, _Ronald_, who do you think told him about _Medieval Magic?_"

At Ron's blank stare she rolled her eyes, "The _book _you found Nicolos Flamel in?" She explained in irritation, turning back to Neville.

"Neville," she said sternly, feeling a disappointed sense of betrayal floating around in her gut. The boy in question flushing a bright red and looking down at the ground to avoid her, "you _promised _you wouldn't do anything foolish. That you would tell a teacher—"

"We tried," he said sheepishly. Harry took charge once more, "We went to McGonagall. She didn't believe us."

She narrowed her eyes in consideration. "About Professor Snape trying to kill you?" _I imagine not._

All three shared a glance that told her she was missing something. Harry and Ron had some nonverbal discussion that ended with Harry shaking his head and turning back to her, speaking quickly in urgent whispers. "You know about Flamel, so you know about the Philosopher's stone. It's what's hidden behind Fluffy, that three-headed dog we ran into." Hunching his shoulders forward, Harry stared at her hard, "Voldemort's after it."

Neville and Ron flinched harshly on his two sides as he uttered the name, and Hermione felt her own eyes widen. "V-voldemort," she said slowly, "As in, _You-Know-Who?_" Her grip on the conversation faltered.

"I'm not making it up, Hermione. I _saw _him. In the Forbidden Forest, _I saw him_ drinking unicorn's blood. We don't have time to explain it, but Voldemort's working with Snape and they're going after the Philospher's Stone, _tonight_."

Hermione took a step back, her mind reeling with the new information. This had moved far past the weird theory the duo had been considering before Easter. She glanced over to Neville and he nodded frantically at her, complexion gone a pale white. They actually believed it.

Shaken, she took a moment to center herself, to think this through reasonably.

The Philosopher's Stone that Harry had said was mentioned in the book she'd referred to Neville. The three of them must have decided somehow that the Stone was what Hagrid had been referring to, what the Cerberus –_Fluffy_?— was guarding in the Third Floor Corridor. Created by Nicolos Flamel, the stone supposedly gave its user everlasting life and turned any material it touched into gold. It was the cornerstone of Alchemical Magic, and fell into superstitious lore as much as it did magical fact. The only empirical evidence that showed it actually existed was the simple fact that Flamel was still alive after all of this time. He remained hidden away, and absent from the Wizarding World for hundreds of years, only keeping in contact with a few people – one of those being Albus Dumbledore, she recalled from archived information. The two had discovered the magical properties of dragon's blood together.

But to hide such an artifact in a _school_ was preposterous. There was no reason for it. Gringott's would be far more logical – but her mind froze again, recalling that the infamous Wizarding bank had been broken into at the beginning of the school year. It had been in one of the first editions of the _Daily Prophet _that she'd ever read. And if the most secure magical bank in Britain had failed she could see the logic in hiding one of the most potent magical artifacts in the world with a wizard as powerful as the Headmaster.

But even if the school was host to such an artifact, Hermione rebutted critically, You-Know-Who was _dead_, killed eleven years ago by the boy standing in front of her. Everyone knew that. He couldn't possibly be here, now, at Hogwarts. Harry couldn't have seen him, it wasn't _possible_!

Still, she'd read in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _that the magical properties of unicorns were immensely powerful. She couldn't imagine what drinking their blood would do, but it left her incredibly uneasy. And outside of him making it up completely, whoever Harry had seen wasn't likely to be _good._ And if it was You-Know-Who— Hermione shook her head sharply.

"No," she said nervously, because the level of this conversation had jumped from House points to revived Dark Lords and that made her beyond uneasy. "I read that You-Know-Who feared one person, and that was Albus Dumbledore." Which would explain why Flamel and Dumbledore would risk hiding the stone in a school full of students, her mind whispered treacherously. If V-voldemort were really the one after it, "He wouldn't dare try to steal anything under the Headmaster's nose—"

"Dumbledore's gone," Harry said, taking another step forward. "He was called away."

Hermione swallowed the rest of her words.

"Hermione," Harry said, "we don't have time to argue about this. He's after the Stone _now_."

Harry sounded so certain, and Ron only nodded grimly behind him. Even Neville, clumsy, fearful _Neville_ was there, trembling anxiously as he was, but willing to go after a Professor he couldn't even look at in class without shaking, not to mention a _dark_ _lord_.

This was _insane. _Harry was talking about a wizard that had the Wizarding world so terrified it had been eleven years and they still couldn't mention him by name. And Harry thought they could stop him? Three First Years wouldn't even give him pause.

Just what did they expect her to do? Let them run to their deaths? Go with them?

"You can't hope to do anything," Hermione said desperately, "We're First Years, Harry. We hardly _know_ magic. And if McGonagall didn't believe you, then surely—"

"It doesn't matter," Harry said firmly, refusing to budge. "I know that Voldemort is after that Stone, and we have to stop him. We're leaving, _now_, and you can't stop us."

Physically, Harry Potter was tiny, and fairly unimpressive. If Hermione hadn't known better, she'd have guessed the Boy-Who-Lived was eight when they'd first met, not eleven. His spectacles were thin, spindly things that stood out in a pale face and they looked as fragile as he was. The mop of messy dark hair that sat on top of his head hid his famous scar and gave him an overall scruffy appearance. He was quiet, in class and out, and didn't bother making friends outside of Ron and later, Neville. If he wasn't already famous, Harry Potter would have been entirely overlooked entering Hogwarts. His flying skills were impressive, and she'd seen firsthand how he stood up to bullies, like Malfoy – but Harry was surprisingly normal. Nothing like the Boy-Who-Lived that she'd imagined when reading the history books.

At least that's what she had thought, until this moment. He spoke with unshaken resolve, and despite the insanity of the situation, despite the wealth of reasons not to, for a second Hermione believed that he might be able to do it. Stop _You-Know-Who._ Her mouth went dry.

Harry Potter might just be the bravest boy Hermione had ever met. Or at least the most stupidly stubborn one.

_Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart _the Sorting Hat had sung, and the truth of what that might mean hit Hermione a little harder. The feeling that she might not belong here was stronger than ever.

"C'mon Ron, Neville. We have to go." Harry called behind him, giving her one more inscrutable stare before moving to leave out of the portrait. The boys followed, Neville glancing back to her nervously, his face a patchwork quilt of shaky emotions.

Hermione watched them go with wide eyes, opening her mouth to speak, but not knowing what she might say. Her feet remained rooted to the ground in a mixture of unsettled emotions. She didn't know what to do. Confusion mixed in with hurt, and Hermione felt undeniably small in that moment as she caught glimpse of a world much larger than her own, and couldn't reconcile it with what was _supposed to be_.

They were First Years, _students, _they were supposed to go to classes, listen to teachers, take exams, follow the _rules_. There weren't supposed to be Dark Lords, or Philosopher's Stones hidden in Third Floor Corridors, or classmates playing roles of hero protagonists in dangerous adventuresthat were so much _larger _than they were. She wasn't supposed to be left with choices this big, and that knowledge kept her frozen in place even as some part of her screamed to follow them, or yell at them to stop until a Gryffindor Prefect came running.

She didn't know what to do, and for the second time in her life, all of the books that she had read couldn't help her.

* * *

_**Present Day**_

A lone patrol car sat outside with flashing lights when Hermione left the store, and hardly any of the passerby's on the street gave her or it a second glance. Escaped convicts and manhunts aside, it seemed like just another day in the neighborhood.

Hermione shook her head in a weary exasperation as she walked down the street, holding her bags of groceries in both hands. It had definitely been a memorable day, at least.

She turned into the gate of the tiny, familiar house she'd stopped at the first day her family had moved here. Sliding all of her groceries to one hand, she knocked on the door of the Parker house. It took a few moments, but finally the door opened and May Parker blinked at her in polite curiosity. "Yes? Oh, hello, Hermione," Mrs. Parker said kindly when she saw who it was.

Hermione returned the smile, "Hi, Mrs. Parker. Is Peter home?"

Mrs. Parker blinked, "Peter? I'm afraid he's out right now, I sent him off for some eggs. Did you need him for something?"

Idly wondering where the teenager had run to, if not back home, Hermione shook her head. "Oh no, not really. I just wanted to drop off his wallet, he left it at the store," she said, managing to pull the mentioned item out from one of her bags.

"Oh!" Mrs. Parker said in mild surprise, taking the worn leather wallet from Hermione with a small frown, "He's already been to the store then? That's strange, he hasn't made it back yet."

Was it her place to tell the woman her nephew had gotten caught in a store with a felon and then run off at the first sign of trouble? Hermione considered it as she took a deep breath, probably not, she exhaled. She was debating on whether or not she should tell her own parent about the awkward, somewhat terrifying run-in as it was, it certainly wasn't her business to do the same for Peter Parker.

"He left in a bit of a hurry," she chose her words carefully, "Looking for a phone, I think."

Mrs. Parker accepted it, shaking her head lightly, "He must've left his phone at the library again. That boy would forget his own head if he could," she muttered fondly. She held up the wallet, "Well thank you for bringing this by, dear. Who knows how long he'd have been looking for it later."

"It was no trouble really, you're house was on the way back," Hermione waved her free hand dismissively.

"I just made some tea, why don't you come inside and have a glass," Mrs. Parker offered, stepping back inside the house and gesturing her in.

Hermione hurriedly declined gesturing to her handful of groceries, but the woman tolerated no arguments. "No, no, I insist. As a thank you for dropping this off," May raised the wallet. "You can put what you need in the fridge."

Checking her watch and noting that there was still plenty of time before dinner, Hermione weighed the possibility of declining again and risk insulting the nice woman. Her shoulder dropped in a light submission. "Okay," she said considering. She was a little thirsty, "Tea would be lovely."

"Excellent," Mrs. Parker beamed, gesturing her inside. "Come in, come in!"

As Hermione entered the house, the woman bustled in front of her, "The kitchen's through this way. Just ignore the mess," she waved at the cluttered, but cozy hallway. The house was small, but comfortable in a way that reminded Hermione of home before they'd moved. Old pictures of family and friends framed the walls, loose odds and ends were tucked away in the corners, and the general lived-in sense filled every space.

"Your house is very nice," she said honestly as they entered an equally cramped, yet satisfyingly homey kitchen. May chuckled lightly, as if she suspected Hermione was just being kind. Taking her groceries, the woman turned towards the refrigerator, "That's very kind of you to say."

"I mean it," Hermione said, taking a seat at the table as she looked around the room, taking it all in. "It reminds me of home."

May bustled around, pulling glasses out of a cupboard, "Hmm, I'm going to take a guess and say England?"

Hermione made a noise of agreement, "London," she clarified and offered gratitude when Mrs. Parker returned with two glasses full of tea. The tea was iced, but delicious all the same. Taking a seat herself, Mrs. Parker turned to her, "And how are you and your parents settling in?"

"I can't complain. Classes keep me busy," Hermione said, considering her parents. "And we've got everything mostly unpacked. My dad's still searching retail for some space to open up the practice. They're dentists," she explained further. "But I think they're enjoying it here."

At least, enjoying the fact that they're not getting letters about their daughter being seriously injured and in the Hospital Wing again.

The telly was on in the corner of the room, though it was muted. It was on a news stations, and a large mug shot of Flint Marko covered the screen. She choked a little on her tea when it changed to a reporter standing outside a very familiar storefront talking to a still not impressed Sheryl.

Thank goodness she'd missed that.

"New York seems a long way from home. Why did you move, if you don't mind me asking?" Mrs. Parker asked curiously as she sat down herself, unaware of the television behind her. Hermione's eye twitched involuntarily.

_Dark Lords. Violent civil wars. Potential loss of life and limb. _

"School," she said instead, with a tight smile. "I'm very serious about my education, and my parents didn't want me to move off on my own quite yet."

Mrs. Parker nodded, eyeing her, "You do look young for college. I had thought you were closer to Peter's age."

She winced, "I graduated early. Technically, I'm still a minor," according to muggle authorities at least. She'd turned seventeen in September so as a witch, she was legally an adult. Not that that mattered much.

They kept talking, and it was. . . surprisingly pleasant once she got past the need to lie with poorly concealed discomfort. Hermione hadn't actually sat down and held a conversation with someone that wasn't one of her parents in ages, and it felt like some invisible tension that had been coiled in her shoulders dissolved with the light discussion.

It wasn't that she tried to be a recluse, because Hermione didn't. Honest. She was just that awkward girl with a background limited to magical Britain and interests that didn't extend past books, academics and a general earnestness for _knowledge. _That tended to give little in regards to common ground with her peers.

She had learned with an increasing amount of experience that most people didn't take to the heavy stream of dialogue concerning academic timetables and the newest edition to _Reviews of Modern Physics. _

It wasn't until she caught herself explaining Newtonian Mechanics to her elderly neighbor, who – when looking a good distance back into the conversation – had simply asked how she was enjoying school, that Hermione realized she had taken that inevitable turn into excited techno babble again. Clamping her jaw shut mid-stream, she felt a familiar warmth heat her neck and cheeks. _This is why you don't have friends_, a dry voice in her head observed wryly, and it only stung a little.

May Parker shifted from leaning on her elbow resting on the table, staring at Hermione in a bemused fascination. Flustered, Hermione began apologizing, "I'm sorry, I tend to get carried away."

"That's quite alright, dear. I'm used to it. Peter used to do the same thing when he got excited." Her happy tone grew distant, more reminiscent as she continued, "Of course, things changed after his Uncle, my Ben passed away. I haven't heard him get excited about school in some time. He's quieter now. "

Feeling as if she was intruding on the moment, Hermione stayed uncomfortably quiet. If his Uncle had passed away, that made May Parker Peter's Aunt. She wondered where his parents were, but was equally aware that the answer was probably just as bleak.

Shaking her head out of the memories, Mrs. Parker leaned over to refill Hermone's glass with another smile, "I'm sorry, dear, that was a bit heavy. What I _meant_ to say, was that it's a comfort to hear again."

A loud thudding sound from upstairs saved Hermione from coming up with a response. They both looked up towards the ceiling, Mrs. Parker pausing from pouring more peach tea into her glass. "Peter, is that you?" she called out.

Hermione had thought the teenager was out, but the shout of a thin voice carried down from the stairwell, "_Yeah, Aunt May!"_

She frowned in consideration, turning to Mrs. Parker curious. "I'm sorry, did he," she asked hesitantly, point up, "Climb through an upstairs window?" Because she certainly hadn't seen him creep past through the front door.

May shook her head in tired exasperation as she stared up at the ceiling, "He does it all the time. I don't even ask anymore."

Well, that was certainly odd behavior. Maybe it was an American thing.

Footsteps rained down the stairs, and a ruffled Peter Parker hurried into view, with a different shirt on than what he'd been wearing earlier – Hermione noted.

"Sorry I'm late, Aunt May. The store was out of eggs but—" he began in a rush, stopping when he caught sight of her. "Oh, hi! Sorry, I didn't realize we had someone over," he said startled. Hermione could see the cogs in his brain clicking together, and the pink tinge that slowly rose in his cheeks told her that Peter had recognized her from the store. He eyes darted from her, to his aunt, and back to her in a mild panic.

"This is Hermione Granger, Peter," Mrs. Parker introduced from her seat. "She lives right down the road from us."

Hermione cleared her throat, "I was um, dropping off your wallet. You left it on the counter at the store. It's nice to meet you. "

Peter blinked, pushing up his glasses sheepishly, "Right. Thanks for that. I uh, must've forgotten it." And all of your groceries too, Hermione said silently with raised eyebrows. She smiled lightly instead, "No problem. You seemed like you were in a hurry to get somewhere."

Peter coughed, and it quickly turned into a high, uneasy laugh as he scratched the back of his head. "Yeah I uh, left my phone—" His eyes squinted in thought, as he searched for words. Snapping his fingers after a moment, Peter looked back at her with an inordinately pleased expression, "At the _library. _I left my phone at the library, so I had to run and uh, go get it."

Hermione stared at the horrible delivery, and Peter squirmed.

"So you live around here, huh?" he asked, changing the subject in a rapid denial at her skepticism. "That's cool."

He looked to his Aunt with a weak smile, his expression pleading as if he had no idea how to handle the extra person sitting in the kitchen.

"Yes, in the Magnolia apartments," Hermione said, glancing back at Mrs. Parker who was staring at her nephew strangely. Well, she was glad it wasn't just her who thought the teenager was acting twitchy.

As much as she was enjoying the entirely awkward moment, Hermione cleared her throat, standing up, "Actually, my parents are expecting me. I should probably get back."

"Peter," Aunt May said, taking charge, "Help her with her groceries."

"Oh, no that's really—" Hermione started, but Mrs. Parker wouldn't hear it. Both of them found themselves outside, Peter carrying her bags, and staring at her like a deer caught in the headlights. She sighed, and gestured with her head. "It's this way."

As they walked, she could feel Peter squirming until he finally burst into words, "Look— uh, I'm sorry I took off at the store. Thanks for not telling my Aunt."

She eyed him, and he looked equal parts embarrassed and guilty. Shaking her head, Hermione said, "Don't worry about it. The attendant called the police, and the guy ran off."

"That's good," Peter said, "Still, I uh, should've probably done something." He rubbed the back of his head with a self-deprecating laugh, "I'm a bit of a coward."

Hermione nearly stopped, feeling irrationally angry, "Running doesn't make you a coward, Peter." The words echoed with some burning sentiment that sat poorly in her stomach.

He looked surprised, and she continued because she wanted to make sure the teenager understood and she had seen what guilt drove people to do.

"You're not a police officer, you're not a soldier, Peter. You're a high school student. You were looking out for yourself, and self preservation is hardly a bad thing."

Peter coughed, "I don't think most people would see it that way."

Definitely not Sheryl, but Hermione kept that thought to herself. An angry store attendant was hardly what the teenager needed on his mind right now.

"People tend to think more with their hearts, than their heads. Even if you had stayed, and even if that convict _had_ stormed to the front of the store, you hardly could have done anything, and then you would've been putting yourself at risk."

He was looking at her strangely now, and she felt her own cheeks turn red as she looked away, "It wasn't your responsibility."

"You didn't take off at a run for the door," he observed.

"Bad decision-making on my part," Hermione quipped, _and old habits._ She was hardly the same as Peter, who seemed to be the average teenaged school nerd. She had more experience in dangerous situations and painful hospital follow-ups than she liked to admit. Running into an on-the-run convict was hardly as terrifying as some of the things she had been through at a far younger age.

And she had calculated the risks, even as she had run to the check-out. The man in the store had obviously just escaped from prison, aside from barreling through anyone that stood directly in his way or grabbing a handy human shield, Marko wouldn't have time to look twice at a person. His priority had been escape. The resident Gryffindor in her had also refused to just _abandon _a little old lady if she was wrong. But she couldn't expect everyone to be a Gryffindor.

They stopped in front of her complex, and she smiled. "Well, this is it. I can take those from here."

Peter handed her the bags, studying her oddly. Hermione supposed she had given him some things to think about. Good.

"And seriously," she said, staring him in the eye, "Don't worry about today."

"You're a strange girl, Hermione," Peter finally said. "But thanks. I won't."

* * *

Weeks later didn't show much progress in the Flint Marko manhunt. Sightings in the first week had followed a strange trail across several state lines that ended in Georgia. To the FBI, NYPD, and news networks all across America, he fell silently off the grid.

So Hermione could say she was honestly surprised when the man burst through a library window on the _fourth floor _and crashed into an aisle of books three tables down from where she was studying.

It took her a moment to recognize him, as he tumbled forward from the shelving with books and strangely, sand, falling down around him. But when she did, it hit her aplomb.

"You have got to be kidding me," she said flatly, brain still trying to process the sudden influx of data.

Flint Marko was back in New York City, and bursting in to _her _library. Of course. She was a little confused as to how he got through the _fourth story _window, but the how showed up a few seconds later in the form of a red and blue spandex covered man who swung in on a cable that he immediately unattached from his wrist.

"Oh, there you are," a surprisingly young male voice came out from under the mask. "Look, I wasn't done talking to you yet."

"You have _got_ to be kidding me." The words escaped from Hermione's mouth once more, and both figures turned to face her. Ignoring the fact that a masked vigilante she had only heard whispers of and a convict who was supposed to be sunbathing in Georgia were standing in front of her, she felt her rage stir to dangerous levels, overcoming her common sense.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? This is a _library!_" She whispered at them furiously. Because if there was one thing Hermione Granger didn't take kindly to people messing with, it was books.

Spiderman dropped his hands, staring at her with white diamond shaped eyes that covered the front of his mouth. "Uhh—"he started, confusion clear in his voice, but was interrupted when Marko punched him with a flying fist that sent him flying right out the window again with a startled yell.

She blinked because it was literally a flying fist. His arm shooting forward in complete denial of his still body standing meters away. It was broken down, elongating into a stream of visibly tiny particles that defied explanation.

The criminal turned to face her with a smug grin, and her eyes narrowed as his arm retracted back, sprinkling sand across the floor that also slid back towards him as if magnetized. "You look familiar," he said, voice low and gravelly, as he stepped forward. "I know you from somewhere?"

He reached out with a hand that extended forward far past rational lengths towards her. But she was used to things defying explanation, so she hardly hesitated as she ducking, grabbing her backpack from the chair beside her and swinging it upwards and forward in an aggressive countermeasure. The book-filled bag slammed into the extending limb, and it shattered in a spray of particulate matter over her like a poorly transfigured animation that had reached its limits.

Sand, she realized clinically as she studied the granules that showered down around her, his arms, potentially his entire body, were made up of sand.

Even as she reached that conclusion the granulated particles halted their descent, shooting back towards where the arm had previously been in an attempt at reformation. Whatever it was, it was no poorly crafted transfiguration.

And then that Spiderman was shooting forward through the window again. This time feet first in an acrobatic move that slammed Marko back into the aisles of books behind him, which he smashed through quite aggressively. He roared in rage even as parts of him shattered into sand with the impact.

Was it magic? Hermione considered, still clutching her bag as a fall back weapon. She had never seen any like it, if it was.

The sand was swirling chaotically around the room to reform, and she wondered just how stable it was, even as the spandexed Spiderman was slammed into with another wall of sand that was vaguely shaped like a fist. He flew back into the pillar behind him with such force that the concrete structure cracked.

"Get out of my _way!_" Marko roared as the sand refigured, and he stumbled forward. Spiderman sprung to his feet, ducking quickly under another swing, except there was no way that he could do that. With the force he'd slammed into that pillar his back should be broken, unless that spandex was fortified in some unseen way, or he was—

His arm shot forward, and cable sprung from a hand, sticking to the shelving behind it. He gave it a mighty tug, and it tumbled forward, books and railing crashing into Flint Marko with a heavy crash. Her eye twitched at the casual defamation of the Physic section. Things were still, but just for a second before Marko exploded outwards with an angry below.

"Buddy, you have an anger management problem," Spiderman complained, even as another sand limb shoot forward and he jumped upwards and out of the way. He did a jumping flip to land right in front of her, keeping his eye on the roaring mad man. "Alright, so enclosed spaces. Bad idea," the masked man observed lightly.

She stood up to examine him more critically. He was breathing a little heavier, but other than that –

"You don't seem hurt," She observed, eyes narrowing as she stepped closer and pulled at the material of his suit. He squawked and took a step away, "Hey!"

"Spandex," she identified thoughtfully. So it wasn't a fortified suit after all. And she couldn't readily see anything that those cables shot out from either. Curiouser and curiouser.

Marko was picking himself up out of the wreckage, looking towards them with murder in his eyes. "I'm going to kill you, kid!" he growled.

"Right," Spiderman huffed, "That's my cue."

He shot his arms out, and two of those white cables sprang forward, one of them sticking to Marko's chest and knocking him back a step, the other flying out of the broken window.

"Let's take this outside," he said dryly, and then proceeded to take a running jump out of the building. Marko had a moment to look down at his chest where the strange cable was still attached, coming to a growling realization, "Aw fu—" before the wire pulled taut and he shot out the window in a surprising show of strength by the masked vigilante.

Hermione stared after them with mouth partially opened in shock, but snapped it shut with a click. Looking at the destruction around her, she considered the bizarre fight she'd just been witness too. Her eyes narrowed as some sand stirred in an imaginary wind on the ground near a collapsed bookshelf. Her weekend had just gotten a lot busier.

**To be continued.**

* * *

**AN: This was horrible to write. I've had to rewrite each scene like three times already, and I'm still not comfortable. I can't put my finger on it, but I just don't like it. I don't like it at all. But with that said, I promised weekly updates, and for once in my life, I intend to deliver. So take it! And please, tell me if you get the same feeling as me. **

**So a question that popped up a lot this time was: will there be romance, and if so, will it be of the Peter/Hermione variety? My honest answer is that I'm afraid to dabble in romance. Not just here, but with every single story I write. I don't know what would happen, but my sense of impending doom tells me the world would implode. However, if my eyes don't bleed with what I write, I might try some harmless hinting, see where the chemistry goes. Just don't come into this with expectations outside of what's already in canon, because I just fail at life.**

**Guest (1): **:D Thanks, glad you like it!

**Aztec 13: **Haha, you have a keen eye! I'm considering at least a cameo role for Murdoch. Keeping it casual, but we'll see where it goes. The X-Men are out of this simply for the sake of my sanity. Another of my stories, Outlet, is working on the Avenger/X Men angle.

**Zillakong: **It's not Doom, but you're getting warmer. It's a pretty important character. :)

**Guest (2)/Whisper: **I'm happy you're enjoying it! And thanks, the Hermione here is a little different from how she ended up in the books, so that deserves to be explained.

**Guest (3): **Yay! Ha ha, right now I'm just focusing on making sure they both turn out well. I haven't worked much with Hermione or Peter, so writing them is still fairly new to me. I'll take another look at it once we get a little further along. I'm glad you like it so far!

**You guys are too cool for school. Thanks for every last review, favorite, and alert. Your support means a lot. I am blown away by the charitable things some of you have said. **

**Comments are always welcome. As a young writer, anything you've got goes a long way for me. And to satisfy my curiosity: Who's your favorite SHIELD agent from the comics, movies, and/or TV show?**

**See you guys next week! Thanks for reading,**

**Strictly Something**


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